


Tears of War

by Tenshikyo



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Admit it, Angst, But still with original story, Dark, Did I mention angst, Eventual Lemon, F/M, Iorveth is a beautiful cinnamon role, Love/Hate, Non-con because Loredo is an asshole, Okay maybe not, Plot/Storybased, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual tension... eventually resolved, Slight Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Ya'll are reading this for Ivor anyway, follows canon (mostly), headcanons, i know i am, people die, too good for this world, too pure, wait what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 44
Words: 156,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4506402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenshikyo/pseuds/Tenshikyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a royal bastard life had never been simple, and when Stennis exiles Gwen it seems that she has gotten a second chance, though she has seen too much to believe in those. When the legendary Iorveth finds her and, with plans of his own, offers her a place in his unit, she has no choice but to accept. A hater of elves now working with them, what could possibly go wrong? </p><p>Iorveth x OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exile

Stumbling through the forest with nothing more than a bloodied piece of cloth that kept sliding off her shoulders and a pair of trousers, torn at the edges, the black-haired woman continued to run, even though the soles of her feet continued to bleed from the harsh underground. Where to, even she did not know, though she knew that she had to get away from whatever lay behind her as fast as possible. Her breath came out in pants, sweat stuck to her dirty skin and her body screamed in protest as the blood continued to flow down the wounds on her back, but she refused to stop for even a moment, desperate to put as much distance between herself and Flotsam. 

A tree root stuck out of the ground, catching one of the woman's feet and causing her to fall to her knees. Breathing heavily, she dug her nails into the soil beneath her and wanted so badly to just stay there and let death come over her. She believed she could still hear the sound of the town behind her, and her fear of being found by any of those humans, or non-humans, forced her back to her feet and on her way once more. 

They had found her in many a humiliating position before, but this would most certainly overshadow all the other incidents, and she would have preferred to avoid something like that. Around every corner already a memory was hidden, an object or a person to remind of her of something that had happened in the past. Another scar on her body or on her mind, another soiled spot which she had to evade if she didn't want to be reminded of one of the many disgraces she had had to suffer at the hands of her fellow citizens, whether by humans or non-humans. It seemed as though she had been doomed to live long enough to see everything surrounding her to become tainted by bad memories and nightmares. 

She did not know for how long she had run when, blinded by pain and hair that clung to her brow, she could not see the path before her, and by the time she did, it was already too late. The clang of metal against metal, capturing flesh in between, rang throughout the woods. A moment of silence filled the air, in which the woman realised what had happened, before she screamed at the agony that flared in her leg. Any and all animals that might have been in the near vicinity scattered, running or flying away from the source of all the noise. 

A trap. A _fucking_ trap. Who the fuck would put a trap out here in the middle of no where, on a path where people obviously walked. Why the fuck had she not been able to see it in time in the first place? 

Tears welled up in her eyes as she clawed at the trap and tried to free herself from it. Whenever she managed to steady her hands enough to grasp the sides, however, she found that she did not have enough energy to open it, the metal always slipping from her grasp. The teeth would simply bite back into her bones, eliciting more yelps from her and adding damage to her already torn up hands. 

"It would seem that I have managed to catch a bloede dh'oine," a voice called out from behind the trees all of a sudden, the mirth in it obvious to hear. 

The wounded woman's head snapped up at the sound, the throbbing in her leg momentarily forgotten as she spat, "I'm not a fucking dh'oine! You must be a seidhe, all high and mighty but hiding behind your trees and traps!"

Much to her surprise, the offender stepped forward, though armour covered so much of his body that he might as well have stayed behind his tree trunk. She could see half of his face; his left eye and a scar on the right side of his face that ran from his lip to his cheek, where it disappeared under the red bandana wrapped around his head. On the left side of his neck, she could discern a flower pattern inked into his skin, but further than that he had covered himself from top to toe. 

She concluded that he most likely belonged to the Scoia'tael. From the arrogance in the way he held himself, he had to be an important member of the Scoia'tael. If she hadn't been feeling dizzy from blood loss and distracted by the aching of her body, it wouldn't have taken her much effort to figure out who stood before her. 

"An inh'eid, then," the man mused, the lack of emotions in his tone surprising the woman. 

She had had the word thrown at her many times in her life, too many times to keep count, but always it had been spoken with contempt and a curious sense of betrayal. Had she heard this man say it in this manner half her lifetime ago, she might have held some hope for the future. But she hadn't, and thus that hope had withered a long time ago, leaving her with nothing more than a glare she could throw at the man in front of her. 

"From the way you speak to me, it does not seem as though you have come to join us," the stranger said as he took another step toward her. "Thus I am left to wonder what exactly an inh'eid such as yourself is doing in my forest."

The woman snorted before replying, "I apologise. I must have missed the sign with your name on it when entering the woods. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my misconduct."

Anger flashed in his green eye, but before she could fully comprehend what she had seen, it had already disappeared. She forgot all about it when she heard a twig snap behind her, and she turned to see who or what had caused it. Several figures, all hidden by the shadows of the leaves above, stood behind her, but before she could act, her world had gone black.


	2. Forfeit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iorveth has an interesting proposal for our half-elf... Will she accept, or not?

She must have slept, but even then the voices of Flotsam seemed to follow her. Except they no longer belonged to that specific town, but to all living beings in existence. Whispers went behind her back, speculating about all kinds of things about her, but they all concluded the same thing: she did not belong.

And no matter how fast she ran, and no matter where she fled to, they always followed her. They always had, they always did and they most likely always would. She simply had to cope with it, as she always had. As she always must. 

Suddenly, the voices gained shape behind her, merging together and becoming louder even as she quickened her pace. The figure grew, taller and broader, until it turned red and hot. The whispers became roars and the flames spread out, tendrils of warmth circling around her, closing off all possible escape routes.

Panic clawed at her throat just as a sob tried to worm its way out, and instead the sound she made sounded like a strangled cry. The flames licked at her feet, reaching out for the ends of her brown dress until that, too, caught fire. 

She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted most of all to get away from the fire, but invisible ropes held her in place and she knew she would have to wait until her body had turned to ashes. Smoke filled the air all of a sudden, and in vain she tried to breath, only to find the dust strangling her from the inside and she was certain that her last moment had arrived...

Only then she opened her eyes and gasped, sucking in as much air as possible. Her chest heaved, stretching the ropes bound around her torso against which she leant forward. Sweat dripped down her face and onto the floor beneath; a tent floor, she noticed. She found she did not have the energy to look around to take in her surroundings, her body still raw with pain and her mind still fevered from the dream, and so instead she simply hung forward and waited until her heart had calmed down somewhat.

Apparently that had been too much to ask for, for that cursed voice spoke up just then.

"I can't imagine what nightmares a royal bastard could suffer from. Did they not have the meat of a certain coloured chicken at the last party?"

The black-haired woman chuckled, but did not answer. The grin on her face distracted from how naked and insecure she felt without her piece of cloth covering her ears.

When she remained silent, the Scoia'tael elf stepped farther into the tent. Moonlight briefly filled the room before he closed the flap again, though she could still see his silhouette against the light from outside. How long had she slept? Where had they taken her? Why had they not just killed her instead?

"Who are you and what were you doing in my forest?" he finally asked. The deep timbre in his voice that filled the silence caused a shiver to run down the woman's spine, but she had learned to trust those the least. 

"My name is Gwen," she started after taking in a deep breath, "and I had the misfortune of being born to a human father and an elven mother who, despite all the comments from family members, loved each other deeply and decided to bring me into this world. Life was hard, for my father was but a simple farmer and did not earn a lot of money, but my parents loved me very much and--"

A chuckle interrupted Gwen's story, and the Scoia'tael clapped a few times. "And they lived happily ever after, did they not, Gwenfrewi?"

Gwen bit her tongue at the sound of _that_ name and tried to hide her irritation, but the man noticed the frown before she could smooth it away.

"Your father and mother were indeed human and elf, but your father was far from a simple farmer. In fact, he couldn't have been any more different had he _tried_ ," the elf said.

By now, Gwen's eyes had adjusted to the dim interior of the tent, and so she could see the man sneer at her as he spoke. She narrowed her eyes at him before replying, "If you already know what you want to know, why did you ask me?"

The Scoia'tael shrugged, his face once more blank while his eye roamed hers for any information he did not yet know and that she had yet to share. She stared right back at him, defying him for as long as possible, though she felt what little energy she had wane together with her will to resist. Let them do with her what they will. 

"I was exiled. Thrown out of the country with nothing but these clothes, onto a ship that would take me to Flotsam. I don't know what they planned on doing with me there, I just ran until you found me," she muttered, hanging her head in shame. Though royal blood ran through her veins, she remained an unwanted bastard. She should have been grateful for the fact that they hadn't chopped off her head the moment her father had died many years ago.

A snort came from the elf before her and she glared at him, but he ignored her as he turned to leave the tent once more. She heard him speak a few soft words to someone standing outside before he disappeared, after which a pair of elves - one man and one woman - came inside carrying all sorts of supplies. 

She watched in silence as they undid the ropes holding her down and removed her clothes so that they could take care of her wounds. All the while, she wanted nothing more than to crawl away from them and curl up so they couldn't see her marred skin, but she dared not say anything for fear of losing her life. Though she couldn't help but wonder whether her life was still worth living in the first place.

They cleaned her back first, wiping away all the grime and blood before rubbing something on her skin that stung, forcing her to bite on her lip so that she kept quiet. Once they had finished wrapping bandages around her upper body, they busied themselves with her leg from where she had been caught by the trap, all the while muttering to each other in the Elder Speech about broken bones and wasted supplies and whatnot. As if she couldn't understand them when they used the language with which she had grown up, which her mother had painstakingly tried to teach her even as they lived in a city surrounded by people who spoke only the Common Speech. 

When the two of them had finished taking care of Gwen, they pulled her to her feet, but she faltered and would have fallen had the woman not caught her in time. While she held the wounded outsider up, her companion once more tied Gwen's wrists together with ropes before leading them out of the tent. He held up the flap of the tent so that the women could exit, and Gwen had to blink her eyes a few times at the bright flare of torches scattered around what seemed to be a camp.

She swallowed hard and forced down the panic that attempted to break free once more, refusing to show any sign of weakness while she still found herself amidst strangers, whose intentions and motivations she still had no clue of. It seemed to work, for her guides never once faltered as, much to her horror, they led her to what looked like a campfire. Despite the pain in her wounded leg, her heels dug themselves into the ground, and the elves by her sides had to drag her closer. 

More elves had gathered there, most of them looking up at the commotion Gwen caused by refusing to take another step in the direction of the fire. Her guides cursed under their breaths, and the man decided to simply lift her into the air despite her protests. He set her down on one of the logs surroundings the campfire, and at once Gwen attempted to stand up and flee, but just as she did so, a palm met her cheek. 

In a half-crouch from getting up and with her body completely drained, the slap sent her reeling, and she landed on the ground with a soft thud, her face in the mud. Someone placed a knee to her bandaged back in order to keep her down, and she bit back the cry of pain and found herself forced to stare at the flames. The smell of earth and burning logs that filled her nose and lungs almost nauseated her while she struggled to rid herself of the pressure on her back, but found that she lacked the energy to do so. 

"Voe'rle," that voice from before commanded, and in an instant Gwen realised who had been speaking to her all this time.

The knee disappeared and instead rough hands grabbed her arms to pull her back up. Before she had the chance to resist again, they dragged her farther away from the fire and forced her to sit on another log. She vaguely registered somebody sitting next to her, and a firm hand on her thigh that prevented her from fleeing once more.

"Please excuse my lack of hospitality. My camp must be far less than what you are used to in your home country," none other than the legendary Iorveth said, the sarcasm in his tone not unobvious.

Gwen raised her brows at him in disbelief before they dipped back down into a frown and she spat on the ground. "Do you honestly believe I was treated with any dignity at all? The humans never left us in peace, and the non-humans took pleasure in seeing them treat us like shit. You Scoia'tael think yourselves so high and mighty in the position of victims, but you are no better than your oppressors."

She shook her head as if to emphasise her point, when in reality she did so to shake some of her hair in front of her ears. Her cursed ears, which had always been what got her judged; too ploughing pointy for the humans but not pointy enough for the elves. At least when she covered them, the humans who did not yet know of her treated her with a little respect. The elves, on the other hand, had always been able to see her human heritage with a single glance, though her mother had always claimed her elven blood dominated over her human side. Not that it had ever mattered to anybody but her.

Iorveth simply remained silent. Gwen had guessed that if anybody would hate her, it would be him, with his loathing of humans and all, but somehow he seemed the only one who did not look upon her with disgust in his eye. She felt the glares of the other elves on her back and tried her best to ignore them, straightening herself as she did so. 

"What is it that you plan to do from now on?" Iorveth asked as he turned his head away from the fire to look at her again. 

Baffled, Gwen could only stare at him as she realised that, until then, she had not thought about what she wanted to do. Though she possessed nothing of worth, by being exiled from her own country she had been given a second chance. She could start over again, build something new for the remainder of her life, however long that might have been. One of the disadvantages of half-elves had always been their unpredictability; no one knew quite for sure how old they could become, for example. 

But even as she tried to picture a new future for herself, the eyes surrounding her continued to bore into her from all directions, and she felt her anger rising at them. She clenched her hands into fists as if that would make her feelings go away, and she knew that she could never start anew. Not after all that had been done to her, things she would never forget, _could_ never forget, no matter how hard she tried. 

Remembering that others had decided for her that she had no place in this world, she turned to the man sitting next to her, who had noticed every emotion and thought as it crossed her mind. "If you believe that I will join your cause, Iorveth, then you are sorely mistaken. Why should I help those who would rather see me dead?"

"It seems that my reputation precedes me, even in Aedirn." The elf chuckled shortly before all signs of mirth disappeared yet again. "Don't misunderstand me, I am well aware of your hatred towards other races, as you most likely are of mine towards humans. But I am not stubborn enough to turn away all those who are neither elf nor human, and thus you could use your... enmity for better purposes."

Gwen only narrowed her eyes at him, knowing full well that Iorveth and his cunning were a force to be reckoned with. He would not dream of offering her a place in his commando, a _inh'eid_ , if he did not believe that he would get something in return. What that could possibly be Gwen did not know, but in that moment joining him looked like the best option. She hadn't eaten in days, her body ached all over, and she had lost her purpose in life yet still retained all this hatred inside of her. 

"And furthermore," Iorveth added, as if reading her mind, "you can't possibly hope to accomplish anything by yourself." 

The half-elf stared at her tied hands while chewing on her lip, afraid of the consequences if she gave in. Afraid of the consequences if she _didn't_ give in. Whatever she chose to do, she would never win.

In the end, her shoulders sagged in defeat and she nodded her head once. Without lifting her eyes, she said, "Fine, I will stay. For now."


	3. Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist gets questioned by Iorveth. He is surprised by her answers.

The sound of bare feet thudding against the ground, of twigs breaking, of leaves rustling and of crackling flames filled the air. Gwen smelled the burning wood, and the dust caused her eyes to tear up, but she did not stop running. For once, she ran towards the burning house instead of away from it. People stood and watched as she continued to sprint past them, none of them seeming to hear the screams coming from the building. 

She knew she only had a few more minutes to get there, but just as she wanted to force her legs to move faster, the ground fell away from her feet and instead she found herself wading through murky water that came to her hip. Something slithered past her leg and a shiver ran down her spine. Almost she let out a screech, but instead she attempted to kick at whatever it was before she began to make her way towards the house once more. 

The screams had stopped by now, which almost seemed worse than the yelling itself. 

"Modron!" Gwen yelled just as she pulled herself onto the bank, just in front of her house. "Hongian ar!" 

No response.

With her heart in her throat, the half-elf made her way to the front door, all the while ignoring the flames that licked at her ankles. She tried to enter the room but found that the door would not open, even when she slammed her shoulder against it. Someone began to moan on the other side of the door, and nails scratched at the wood from the inside, a desperate attempt to escape. 

"Modron!" Gwen called out again, this time kicking at the door keeping her away from the person trapped inside.

When she heard the sound of something crumbling, she knew she had taken too long. She flattened herself against the door, her chest pressed against the wood, and called out to her mother, begging for any signs of life. Silence was the only answer she received, and she felt her world shatter around her. A loud crack came from above her and she looked up only to see the roof cave in.

With a yelp, Gwen shot up and held her arms above her in order to protect herself from the rubble that never reached her. After a few moments, she opened her eyes only to find herself in that tent once more. The sight of two elves sleeping on the other side of the tent greeted her, and for a moment the half-elf looked around in bewilderment before she remembered what had happened. 

She realised that the elves had been placed there to keep an eye on her, but she couldn't have cared less about them as she crawled out of the tent, where she stretched her legs. Apparently the wound from the trap hadn't been as bad as everyone had thought, for already she could feel improvement. Or perhaps some sleep had simply helped to make her feel better in general. 

Outside, the moon still shone brightly, but when she stared at it for a while, she realised that it had changed. She had been asleep for a _whole_ day. To emphasise this point her stomach let out a low rumble, and she remembered that she hadn't eaten any proper food since getting on that damned boat. 

Uncertain of what she should do, Gwen made her way to the campfire again, making sure that she never came too close to it or any of the other flames. 

"What is it about fire that scares you?" Iorveth's voice asked from right behind her, causing her to whirl around in surprise. Her wounded leg gave in, and the elf's hands shot out to steady her, though she brushed them off the very moment she had found her footing once more. 

"I'm not afraid of fire!" she snapped at him, her pride already wounded enough since he kept managing to sneak up on her. 

Iorveth stared at her for a few moments before shrugging and leading her in the exact direction of the cursed flames. "Come. You must be hungry." 

"Why are you so kind to me all of a sudden?" She could only squint her eyes at his back as he took her to certain doom, the campfire momentarily forgotten. "You have two other elves sleeping in that tent with me, but now you're pretending to be all friendly with me or what?" 

"You share a tent with others because we cannot simply give everyone their own," Iorveth answered, stopping in his tracks and shooting the half-elf a sharp look over his shoulder, "and if you are to join my unit then you are going to have to be fit." 

He turned his back to her again and sauntered over to the campfire without waiting for her response, his armour clinking softly with every step he took. Not that he would have gotten one, for Gwen could feel her cheeks turn red from both anger and embarrassment, her mouth hanging open though nothing came out.

"If you wish to do so, you are free to leave. I will even send a few escorts with you to ensure your safe return to Flotsam, if that is what you desire." A mocking tone inhabited his voice and he sounded as if he couldn't believe he had just uttered those words. 

Had she not stood frozen to the ground at hearing his words, Gwen would have cried and begged for the commander to never let such a thing happen to her. That she had suffered enough cruelty at their hands to deserve some peace for the remainder of her life, that she would always prefer the company of elves over that of humans. But thankfully she did no such thing, and instead she slowly made her way over to him by the campfire. 

She sat down next to him with a scowl on her face, only realising that he awaited a response when she noticed him watching her. Had he honestly just given her a choice? If she hadn't been suspicious about his motivations before, she most certainly was now. 

Without betraying her thoughts, she said, "If I had to choose between dying in the midst of humans and dying in the midst of elves... I'd rather jump off a cliff." 

Iorveth let out a snort and shook his head. Then he turned away from Gwen and reached for something in the shadows beside him, only to come back with what looked two wooden bowls, water in one and some food in the other. Gwen wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach at the sight of it, as if that would hold back the sounds it would most definitely make.

The way he held the bowls just out of her reach filled her with dread, and no sooner had she guessed his intentions than he opened his mouth and asked her, "Those wounds on your back. Who whipped you?" 

All the defensive walls that had lowered themselves at the sight of food rose once more and Gwen abruptly looked away, twisting her body so that she literally gave him the cold shoulder. Why had he decided to ask her something like _that_? She had expected him to ask her anything that had to do with Aedirn, and she would have told him the truth: that she knew nothing. Just because one of the country's kings had fallen in love with her mother many years ago did not mean that she had anything to do with the politics.

She heard the sound of liquid dripping to the ground and when she glanced over her shoulder she saw Iorveth slowly spilling the water from one of the bowls. 

"This is all you're getting. We don't exactly have the resources to feed everyone twice, so you better answer my questions if you don't want to through another day with an empty stomach," he explained without diverting his gaze from the bowl, which he had steadied for a moment while he waited for her response. 

Gwen's throat felt dry all of a sudden, and her stomach grumbled in protest. She crossed her arms and, refusing to look at the elf sitting next to her, she mumbled, "The guards on the ship."

She had tried to keep her mind blank as she gave him his answer, but still she could hear the crack of a whip from her memories and her body twitched, as if anticipating a hit. 

Iorveth frowned when he saw it and, giving the half-elf the promised bowl of water, tightened his grip on the other. He had guessed as much, but he hadn't wanted to believe the voice in his mind. Royal blood flowed through her veins, she was the daughter of Baldwin the First; she must have had a pleasant enough life up till some point, right? The very reason why he had wanted her, from the moment he had caught wind of what her great, great grandnephew planned on doing, was her royal blood, but if even that hadn't protected her from persecution, then what good would it do _him_? 

He wanted to blame the humans and their cruelty, but witnessing the woman's hatred towards both humans and elves and her reasons behind it stung. They could never have treated her like the dh'oines had, knowing fully well what oppression felt like. But he had to have lost both of his eyes to not notice the animosity between his captive and his soldiers. He hated humans just as much as the next elf, but her elven blood should have granted her at least a chance to prove herself to the group. Inh'eids had just as much reason to hate humans as any other non-human. 

And after all, theirs was a dying cause. They would all perish anyway, whether by human hands or simply through old age, and they would do so without having succeeded much of anything they had set out to do. Something had to change, and if Iorveth had to be the first, then so be it. And perhaps his original plan would work out in the end. For now, having an extra sword under his command couldn't hurt anybody but his enemies. First, however, she would have to heal, despite his soldiers' reluctance to help anything with human blood in it. He understood their feelings and felt his own annoyance bubble up whenever he took note of her human features, but he had to remind himself that she did not actually belong to the humans. 

Gwen wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand before closing her eyes, enjoying the moment while she still could. Which meant until her stomach growled again, as if it feared she had forgotten about it. 

Still looking very much unhappy with the situation, she stared at the bowl that Iorveth held in his death grip. Obviously a quick learner, she waited for the next question. Had the mood been any lighter, Iorveth might have grinned. 

Instead, however, he asked the one question that had been burning in his mind from the very moment he had heard about her situation. "Why were you exiled in the first place, anyway?"

A look of surprise replaced the frown on her face, taking Iorveth aback for a moment. She looked as though the question should have been, 'Why had it taken them so long to exile you?' It didn't take long before the scowl from before came back and the woman practically snarled at him. 

"You really _do_ believe I had an easy life. Do you think I was surrounded by plush cushions and servants at all times as well? That I only had to clap my hands and I'd be presented with five different kinds of cheese? That I--" 

She never managed to finish her sentence, for suddenly her eyes went from his face to the fire, and her face paled. Without another word, she jumped up and tried to flee, only to stumble to the ground a few steps later, where she continued to lay as her shoulders began to tremble. 

The Scoia'tael commander had gotten up from his seat when she did, and now he stood and watched the woman as she tried to stifle her startled sobs with the bed of leaves beneath her. Almost he had seen her as an elf, her hair black and long like those of the women in his camp and her dark eyes, whatever their colour, cold and distant. Her elven mother had obviously been a beautiful woman, and she had passed many of her traits along to her daughter, but the fierce emotions and their changeability left no doubt of the human blood in her. He had known the woman only a few days and already it tired him. 

After a few moments, Gwen's stomach protested once more and she remembered she had earned herself the bowl of food now. She scrambled back to her feet and, her face a blank mask, she hobbled over to Iorveth to retrieve it. Without uttering a word, the elf held it out for her and she accepted it before sitting back down and shoving the greens and berries into her mouth, thankful for the lack of meat. 

It didn't take long before she had emptied the bowl and satisfied her belly. She immediately handed the bowl back to the elf and got up once more, refusing to spend another second in the man's presence. 

Just before she left, however, she realised that she had never actually answered his question. With her back still facing him, and for reasons unknown even to herself, whether to spite him or out of anger at herself, she said, "Stennis believed to be merciful if he sent me out of the country before the humans managed to get their hands on me. He put me on a boat with thieves and murderers who were to be punished in Flotsam, and I didn't wait to find out whether the humans there would kill me after all."

And with that she left, ignoring his gaze boring into her back as she made her way back to her tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any "Elvish" that appears in this story will either be taken from the Elder Speech list on the Witcher wikia, or it will simply be Welsh, because that is the Celtic language I am most familiar with. I'll put the translations here.
> 
> ((From previous chapters:  
> Dh'oine = human  
> Seidhe = elf  
> Inh'eid = half-elf  
> Voe'rle = stop))
> 
> Modron = mother  
> Hongion ar = hang on


	4. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist decides to help around the camp, for better or for worse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title belongs to Hurts, just like the previous one.

Angry yells filled the crisp morning air a few days later. Iorveth hadn't seen much of the newcomer since that conversation by the campfire, but he had given clear orders to his soldiers and thus knew he hadn't had to worry about her. Until now. 

"Don't you ploughing touch me, you _elf_!" the inh'eid screeched, and from the strained sound of her voice it was obvious that someone or something held her back. 

Iorveth made his way to the noise fully intent on punishing someone until he arrived at the scene. On one side of the clearing stood Gwenfrewi sporting a fresh cut on her forehead, blood seeping into her right eye, with Ivor's arms hooked under her armpits to hold her back. On the other side stood Maeve; Mervyn had wrapped his arms around her torso while Senan held onto her right arm. In her limp grasp she still held a knife coated with blood.

Their commander could feel his temper rise at the sight before him, and everyone except Gwenfrewi froze when they noticed their leader entering the scene. 

"What's the meaning of this?" he yelled, his frustration evident in his voice.

As if some signal had been given, Gwen stopped trying to escape her captor's hold while Maeve came to life once more, yelling incoherent words. One of the bystanders, Wynne, a young female elf with black, braided hair that barely reached her shoulders and bright blue eyes that shone at the sight of her commander, jogged over to Iorveth with an apologetic look on her face. 

"I'm afraid everyone is a bit on edge because of the inh'eid's presence, Iorveth. We can't continue to do all the work while she sits around all day and licks her wounds," she admitted, as if that were enough explanation for the fact that one of his soldiers had pulled a knife on a comrade. Because they would have to see her as such, one day.

Still mad at them all, he pushed Wynne to the side so that he could make his way to the offenders. He sauntered over to Gwen, who watched his arrival with disdain in her angry, brown eyes, while giving commands to the other party. "Mervyn, Senan, take Maeve away from here and see that she is calmed down. Punish her accordingly." 

He relieved Ivor, whose arms had been built for bows and not swords, of his burden by wrapping his fingers around Gwen's shoulder and dragging her with him, not considering her wounded leg at all. Ivor followed him close by in order to help his commander carry her, which earned him a few kicks to the stomach from Gwen's healthy leg, though he never once complained.

Once they had distanced themselves from the crowd, though they knew better than to follow Iorveth when angered, he practically threw the half-elf to the ground. Ignoring her cry of pain, he accepted the rag that Ivor held out for him and, kneeling beside her, dragged it across Gwen's forehead to wipe away the blood. By the time he had cleaned most of the red and instead pressed it against her skin to stop the bleeding, the woman had taken to biting on her tongue in order to keep quiet.

Once he had made sure that the wound no longer bled freely, he motioned for Ivor to do the rest. He swept the ends of his short, black hair out of his eyes before kneeling down beside Gwen. When she appeared to want to escape the close proximity with the other elf, Iorveth sat behind her so that he could hold her still.

"You are not making this any easier on yourself," he grumbled.

"Me?!" she yelled, infuriated. "I didn't do shit, that _bitch_ \--"

Iorveth jerked her arms before she could finish her sentence, and she cursed when her jaws snapped shut with her lower lip between her teeth. More blood dripped down on her tunic, the one she had only gotten a few days ago, just after her arrival. "You sunufa--"

This time, Ivor interrupted her by shooting her a smile that even reached his kind grey eyes. The sight of it must have surprised her, for she stopped talking and instead sucked on her lower lip, glowering as she did so. She lowered her head, though whether in shame or to give Ivor better access to the cut, Iorveth could not say. 

"Now," Iorveth began once Ivor had finished treating Gwen's forehead, "care to explain what all that fuss was about? My people don't just wave their weapons around when unprovoked."

"Like I said, I didn't do anything. I just--"

"You must understand that many of us find it difficult to remain calm in times like this, especially now that someone like you is here. Perhaps you said something that offended someone," Ivor offered, his voice surprisingly soothing. He was one of the older elves around, perhaps even older than Iorveth himself, and had always had a way with calming down people.

"And Wynne was right. They are already on edge, and your inability to perform tasks as of yet certainly does not help your case," Iorveth added. 

"But that is-- I just--" she yelled in protest, but her voice kept cracking. She cleared her throat before she tried again. "That was exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to ask whoever was responsible for cooking if I could help them, because I didn't feel like sitting around on my ass all day." Her voice had dwindled to a whisper and Iorveth looked up in surprise, his eye meeting those of Ivor, who only smiled in return. 

"And the fight?" Iorveth asked, his eye narrowing in suspicion. 

Gwen ripped her arms from his hold and he let her do so, his fingers grasping thin air while he contemplated the structure of the limbs he had just held. The rags she wore hid most of her frame, and thus the elf could not properly estimate what she had to offer his unit in the first place. Albeit thinner than he would have liked, he was relieved to find out that she wasn't just a stick. With a little training they would make a true Scoia'tael of her yet. 

"Why are you asking _me_? I was minding my own business, when suddenly that stupid bi--" At the warning in Iorverth's gaze, she managed to swallow the word before it left her lips. "I swear, I did nothing!"

Still Iorveth looked sceptical, and Ivor shrugged his shoulders when his commander looked at him. "I came a few moments later, when this young lady here was just about to rip off Maeve's head. By then, she had already been wounded."

"Don't call me that!" Gwen snapped, directing her aggression towards him. "I might even be older than you are!"

Ivor laughed out loud as he shook his head. "I doubt that. I've lived closer to two centuries than to one." 

"Shit," the half-elf muttered, looking away from him, "I didn't even know elves could get that old." 

At that, Iorveth could stay silent no longer. "How do you propose _you_ could become a hundred years old with your dh'oine blood if it weren't for the seidhe blood keeping you alive for so long?" 

Gwen continued to glare at her hands, but she didn't reply. Of course she knew elves could live up to three or four centuries, if certain Scoia'tael commandos didn't send them to their deaths before that; she had meant her words to be some sort of insult. Now she just looked like an idiot who didn't have any general knowledge. 

Ivor distracted everyone by getting up and holding out a hand to help Gwen on her feet. The half-elf only stared at his hand, still sceptical, and so he said, "Gwenfrewi is your name, right?"

"It's Gwen," she snapped at him. 

"You watch your tone!" Iorveth, who had climbed to his feet as well, spat as he took a threatening step towards the woman. 

Before Gwen could yell something back at him, Ivor held his other arm in front of his commander's chest to hold him back and said, "Well then, Gwen, I believe we have some things to settle."

For a moment the woman looked surprised, but it didn't take long for her to accept the elf's helping hand, ignoring Iorveth's muttering in the background as she did so. He lifted her up with ease before leading her back to the crime scene. As they stepped into the clearing, she felt safer with a strong elf in front of her and one behind her, though that didn't make the stares from those who still hung around the spot any easier to bare. 

She tried to glare at each and every one of them, but Iorveth gave her a push from behind that almost had her stumbling again. If he continued to shove her around all day, her leg would never get to heal, or so she wanted to yell at him, but by then they had already arrived at the kettle and pots that made up most of the camp's kitchen.

"It seems that there has been some sort of misunderstanding," Iorveth stated as he stepped away from Gwen and towards the ones responsible for cooking. They didn't look too pleased with the arrival of the inh'eid. "Gwenfrewi meant to ask whether she could help with preparing the food. At least until her leg has healed."

Gwen glared at the man and bit on her tongue. She had _just_ said that... No, he did this on purpose, did he not? The glance he shot her when she remained silent told her enough. He knew, and he also knew that she could not touch him. She was surrounded by people who would protect their commander with their lives, after all.

Balling her hands into fists, she gave a curt nod but dared not open her mouth. The gods knew she had already given the elves reason enough to want to kill her as it was. Iorveth raised an eyebrow at her dark look, but did not comment on it.

"How are we to know she does not mean to poison us all?" one of the elves piped up.

The half-elf had to laugh at that. "Do you think it possible for me to poison all of you? If a few of you were to fall ill, you would probably chop my head off before I could poison you all."

"You must remember that the cooks have never worked alone," Ivor interrupted. "If you were to keep an eye on her, she should never have the opportunity to poison the food in the first place." 

He shot Gwen a look just as she wanted to protest, and so she quickly closed her mouth again. Silence then filled the air as the elves looked at each other in uncertainty. 

"From now on, the inh'eid will help you cook. Take whatever precautions you like, but I will not hear of this again," Iorveth said, and that was the end of that. 

Most elves dispersed after the words had been spoken, and with a pat on her shoulder Ivor left her by herself. 

"You do realise cooking is done with fire, do you not?" Iorveth asked her, his face blank though she noticed the amusement in his green eye. He turned and left before she could strangle him, most likely doing her more of a favour than himself. 

Unsure of what to do next, Gwen stood there, scratching her cheek. _Just man up, you twat,_ she finally thought as she made her way towards the make-shift kitchen, biting back a wince whenever she put any weight on her poor leg. She had seen better kitchens, but she most certainly had seen worse as well. 

"So, yeah..." she began, her hands clutching at her breeches. 

The gaze of the few remaining elves weighed heavily on her as she searched for words. When her mind refused to work with her, she let out a growl that had the Squirrels glaring at her, but she surprised them by bending down as well as she could and ripping a strip of cloth off of her pants. 

She bound it around her head and straightened her back, jutting her chin out as she asked, "All right, where can I begin?"

The elves glanced at each other, frowns on all of their faces. One of them, a woman with dark brown hair that she had brushed behind her ears and eyes that looked as though they were violet, finally took a step forward and offered Gwen a reluctant nod. 

"My name is Aderyn," she said and looked over her shoulder at her comrades, who stared at her in surprise. Some of them made faces as though they had just been betrayed, but Aderyn ignored them and pointed at each one of them. "That is Cerys, next to her stands Brigid, and the man next to her is Dylan." 

From Brigid the half-elf received a tiny smile that seemed almost shy as she brushed her black hair out of her face, even though it had no where to go since she had bundled her long fringes with pieces of cloth wrapped around the edges. Her golden eyes went from her to Aderyn before she glanced at her other friends, who both refused to cooperate in the least. 

Cerys had crossed her arms as she continued to glare at Gwen, her short hair - also black - sticking out at all angles as though she had never touched a comb in her life. Dylan mimicked her look, and it unnerved Gwen that the two of them had the exact same dark green eyes, both pairs filled with hate as they beheld her. Any other time she might have laughed at the fact that the brother had longer hair than the sister, a small braid covering his left ear, but Gwen realised that that might have meant certain death in that moment. 

"Have you ever cooked before?" Aderyn asked when no one else said anything. 

Gwen took her eyes off the siblings in order to give the woman an incredulous look. "Of _course_ I've cooked before. You can't exactly survive in the wilderness without learning to cook a thing or two. As surely you must know, seeing as you live in the wilderness as well."

Dylan and Cerys narrowed their eyes at her and looked about ready to stab her with a knife that couldn't have been far off, but Aderyn held up a hand without ever seeing their reactions. 

"Great," she said, and Gwen didn't like the grin that appeared on her face one bit. "Then I suppose you won't mind helping us figure out a recipe for today's dinner." 

_Great indeed, you bitch,_ the half-elf wanted to mutter. _Because I don't notice a test when presented with one, or what?_

She voiced none of these thoughts, of course, and instead smiled in return. "Why, it would be my pleasure to show you elves some proper cooking."


	5. Confide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist finds out that Iorveth knows more than she had guessed, and she doesn't like what she hears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Hurt's "Confide in Me".

As she had expected, Gwen had passed the 'test' with flying colours, and she had provided the elves with a meal many of them hadn't dreamed of tasting. That had made the fact that she herself could eat nothing of it all the worse, for Iorveth had decided to punish her since he still believed that she had managed to provoke that other elf. Though her attacker had gotten none of the food either, which had made it all a bit better after all. 

A few days had passed since then, and still Gwen couldn't stop wondering about how these barbarians had lasted out here for so long when they knew not even the simplest of recipes she had demonstrated for them. Then she asked herself how many of these elves had had parents to hand said recipes down to them, but she preferred not to think of that and instead continued to gloat over her superiority over these pathetic elves. How long would any of these people survive out there all by themselves with naught but their wit to protect them? How many of them would die within the first winter? That, too, were things the half-elf didn't want to think about.

What had happened to her, anyway? She had always loathed elves and humans alike, wishing the most terrible of deaths upon every single one of them, and now that she had spent a few days in the company of the former, she had had a change of heart? Would the same happen to her if she ever survived another week in a village surrounded by humans? Even worse: had she thought like this when she still _had_ lived with humans? 

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, and she decided to just keep her mind blank while she threw ingredients into the pot before her and stirred its contents. The fire beneath it did not bother her as long as the smell of the stew overpowered that of the burning logs. Suck on that, Iorveth! 

Speaking of which, where had that stupid elf gone off to anyway? 

She glanced at Dylan who sat at the other side of the clearing, cutting up carrots as she had instructed him and glaring at her in order to make sure she didn't put anything in the cauldron that wasn't supposed to go in it. She contemplated whether she should ask him about the whereabouts of his commander. Now hers, too, she reminded herself. But from the way he kept hacking at the poor vegetables, Gwen almost feared that he pictured her head instead, so she decided against talking to him. Preferably ever. 

Just then, he finished his task and came over to her, throwing his chopped up carrots into the boiling stew without asking if he should actually do so in the first place. She ignored him and gave it another stir or two before pulling herself up with the help of a stick which she had fashioned into some sort of crutch. 

"Just leave it like this for a while," she said before leaving the clearing without sparing the boy a glance. At least with her make-shift crutch her hobbling pace had now increased enough to make for a dramatic exit. 

First she searched for Ivor, the only elf around here who would grace her, the poor damned half-elf, with his divine presence, taking pity on her. For after all, she was not worthy of laying eyes upon one of the sacred beings of the wild, also known as seidhe. Or so the others in the camp must have thought whenever they saw him with her. 

This also meant he was the only one willing to change her bandages, something she had at first tried to do herself, though without success. He probably knew why she sought him the very moment he caught sight of her, for they were both aware of how stubborn and proud the half-elf could be. 

"Just a moment," he said as he continued to sharpen what would later become the tip of an arrow. 

Gwen watched as he brought a small rock down on the stone, asking herself why she had never attempted this herself. She had always just sharpened the arrows themselves, but it was too late to lament on missed opportunities now. 

When Ivor decided he had made the tip sharp enough, he placed it on the ground next to him and got up from his spot on the tree stump. As he followed Gwen to her tent, he brushed his hands off of his breeches, trying to get them as clean as possible. 

"I don't believe there's any risk of infection anymore," he told her, but Gwen only shrugged before she pulled off her tunic with her back turned towards Ivor as she did so. 

She unwrapped the dirtied bandages and laid them to the side so that Ivor could inspect what remained of her wounds. A shiver ran down her spine when the tips of his fingers touched her skin, probing the crusts on the cuts for any signs of pain. 

"Don't touch me like that!" Gwen snapped at him as she shied away from him. He hadn't done this before; normally he just looked at it and then wrapped it up with more bandages. 

Ivor's hands disappeared and he said, "Forgive me. I still cannot believe that people are capable of doing such a thing simply because of your race. Somehow the cruelty of humans still manages to surprise me."

"Well, they are," the half-elf replied, glaring at thin air. "Humans or non-humans, they're all the same to me, just as disgusting as each other. It doesn't matter who wins this war, I'll lose nonetheless."

Neither of them spoke for a while. While Gwen waited for him to redress the wounds, she could feel his eyes staring at her back. 

In the end, she sighed. "I came to be because two people loved each other, yet my whole life had been filled with nothing but hate. Isn't that ironic?"

"That's incredibly sad," Ivor murmured. 

"Yeah, well, what are you going to do about it?" Gwen asked him, her irritation mounting once more, and she looked over her shoulder to scowl at him. "And anyway, you're a _Squirrel_. You can't be any better than the rest, so stop pretending you care."

Ivor frowned at that. "But I _do_ care. Like every other Scoia'tael out there I have my own hopes and goals, and my own ways of achieving them. Just because I am part of a greater whole does not mean you should judge me by the acts of my brethren. That would make you no better than any human or non-human. And on top of that, you are now a Squirrel as well. What does that make _you_?"

The woman looked in front of her again, her frown deepening as his words tried to worm their way to her core, but a protective layer of denial stopped them before it was too late. She had a reason for her hatred; she had never done any harm to anybody, yet still everyone treated her like shit. The elves had experienced the same at the hands of the humans, and so she had thought that at least they would understand her, but it seemed as if their oppression had taught them nothing at all.

"Are you almost done?" she asked, ignoring his comment. 

Ivor sighed but didn't say anything. Instead, he rummaged around in what Gwen presumed was his pack, and without warning rubbed a salve on her back, the strokes of his hands rather crude, but the half-elf did not complain. 

"It won't be long before you can stop bandaging it, I believe," he said as he wrapped the bandage around her with her help. 

She hummed in approval, and when he finished bandaging her, turned around so that she could take care of her leg. Ivor took the limb in his hands and inspected it, fingers pressing at the holes where the trap's teeth had bitten you.

"And your leg's healing well as well. For a while now we haven't had a healer, so we'll just have to do with we have, and hope for the best. But you say it hurts less, so I don't think we have any cause for concern just yet." 

Glad to hear that, Gwen let out a breath of relief. She did not want to be almost-cripple for much longer; no matter how much she loved cooking, she also craved exercise. 

Ivor held out a hand to help her up, but she ignored it and got up by herself. Before they left the tent, she asked him, "Do you know where Iorveth is?" 

The elf looked at her, his gaze unreadable, before he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "You should ask Ciaran, Iorveth's adjutant. He'll know more than I do." 

"Great," Gwen muttered before she nodded at Ivor and took her leave. 

She groaned as she made her way to where she knew to find Ciaran. As was the case with most the elves at the camp, Iorveth's second-in-command, or whatever one wanted to call him, could not stand her. 

This he made obvious the very moment she reached the edge of their so-called territory, scowling at her when he laid eyes upon her. Gee, this place almost began to feel like home, didn't it? 

Had she not known that Iorveth had given orders to leave her alone, she might not have felt so at ease in the first place. Many elves chose to simply stay away from her, lest they accidentally kill her or something, and that suited the half-elf just fine. She didn't want to know how often these imbeciles tripped into other people while holding knives in their hands.

"What do you want?" Ciaran snarled at her, and Gwen raised a brow at him, which seemed to anger him even further. She hadn't opened her mouth yet and he looked just about ready to shoot her with that bow he held in his hands. 

For a moment she contemplated turning around and leaving, but her curiosity got the better of her. "I was wondering where I could find Iorveth."

The elf narrowed his eyes at her, and Gwen almost expected him to start growling at him. For all their talking about their famed neutral faces, the elves in this camp seemed to have permanent frowns. 

Instead, however, he snapped, "Why should I tell _you_?" 

"Well," Gwen began, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but the sound of clinking armour interrupted her thought process and she looked up just in time to see Iorveth stalking up the hill on which they stood. 

She frowned as she watched him march past her. He had been out in the forest all by himself? Usually he took a few elves with him wherever he went, why not this time? Suspicion filled her and she followed the stream of elves making their way to where he waited for them. 

When he thought enough of his comrades had gathered around, he raised his arms and, in a loud voice, called out, "It would seem that we have found ourselves a powerful ally who is willing to help us further our cause."

Murmurs exploded all around the half-elf, who remained silent throughout it all. This had nothing to do with her, after all, even if Iorveth had made her a Squirrel. 

"He is a Witcher," Iorveth went on, but he was silenced when the murmurs turned into yelling. A Witcher could only be human, a filthy dh'oine. Such a person could never be considered an ally to the Scoia'tael, of course. 

"Listen!" the commander yelled at the top of his lungs, and the angry voices calmed down. "With our help, he plans to kill the human kings. He will begin with Foltest, but that won't be the end of it."

"How do you know he speaks truly?" Ciaran stepped forward so that his question could be heard by everyone. 

Iorveth nodded, as if he knew that they would ask him this. Before he replied, his eye flickered over to where Gwen stood, and her frown deepened. "He has been so kind as to give me... certain proof. That is all you must know." 

Once he had spoken those words, he turned and left, the crowd parting to let him through. 

Why? Why had he looked at her before he spoke? Had it been a coincidence, had her human features jumped out of the crowd and attracted his gaze? What other reason could there possibly be?

The elves dispersed, all the while talking about the news amongst themselves; some theorising about who this Witcher could possibly be and others asking each other what could have possessed Iorveth to ally himself with a dh'oine. Gwen did not wait for them all to have left before she went after the commander, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain at pushing her leg beyond its limits. 

When she found him conversing with Ciaran and some other elf whose name she did not know, she placed a hand on his shoulder and whirled him around with all her might. Which wasn't a lot, for she had to keep herself upright with her crutches, but for once he did her a favour by not working against her. 

He shot her an inquisitive look, but before anybody could speak he turned and gestured for his companions - who looked livid at the half-elf touching their leader - to leave them. He wouldn't do such a thing if he hadn't expected her to seek him out, if he knew she didn't have a reason to do so, would he?

"What was all that about?" Gwen finally snapped at him when they had been left by themselves. 

"Is it now forbidden to look at inh'eids as well?" Iorveth asked her, the look on his face almost nonchalant. As if that would make her _less_ suspicious. 

"You know full well what I mean, elf. What's all this talk about kings and proof?" 

The man only stared at her for a few moments, which allowed Gwen to regain the breath she had apparently lost on her way to him. She knew he sought answers to his questions by examining her expression, but she too could use the elves' neutral face when she concentrated.

"I have found out quite a bit about you through my agents, but one thing was never quite clear," he said when his investigation taught him nothing. "Where exactly do your loyalties lie?"

Gwen bit her lip. How much _had_ he managed to find out about her? Could he possibly know...? Well, not that it mattered either way. "What? Do you mean if I am loyal to my family, the crown?"

When Iorveth nodded, the half-elf couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.

"What does all that precious information of yours help you if you are incapable of making logical conclusions? Like I would remain loyal to anyone who treated us like they did." So he didn't know everything after all. "If you had asked me this a hundred years ago when my father still lived, I might have said yes. But everything went downhill after his death, so luckily for you I don't give a pig's ass about what happens to them."

Another calculating look before the elf opened his mouth. "So if I were to tell you that our new ally was the one to kill your great, great grandnephew, you would not mind?" 

"What, do you want me to bake him a pie to thank him for getting rid of that asshole?" she asked him as she kept her face blank, trying her best not to betray any of her thoughts.

"Perhaps. After all, Demavend _did_ kill your mother."

He trained his green eye on her and watched the mask fall away with a hint of amusement. The sound of flames crackling filled her ears, and she stared unseeing at the fire that forever raged on inside her mind. When panic attempted to overtake her, she replaced it with anger and, without thinking, she tackled the man, her crutch clattering to the ground. His back hit the leaves beneath them with a thud, but he didn't seem too impressed. 

"Don't you dare speak of her like that!" Gwen yelled as she attempted to hit him in the face, though he wrapped his fingers wrapped around her wrists before her hands could reach him. She tried to pull herself free, but when the commander wouldn't release her, she sagged forward.

Nearby elves who had heard the commotion ran over to the pair, enraged by the fact that an inh'eid had touch their leader like this, yelling things that Gwen could not understand in her moment of rage. Hands grabbed her from behind and pulled her off of him, her jaw rattling at the rough movements. Whoever held her shoved her to the ground, away from Iorveth, who got up and brushed his hands off his stupid skirt as if nothing had happened.

She hadn't even been able to lift her face from the mud when she was once more grabbed and dragged away from the scene, giving her more than enough time to scowl at Iorveth. The fact that he did not look as triumphant as she had expected did little to calm her down, and she continued to scream and shout at the elves who proceeded to tie her to a tree trunk somewhere out in the forest until her throat had gone raw and only rasped whispers came out of her and everyone had left her once again.


	6. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist has had enough of elves and tries to escape, but things don't go as planned.

Iorveth had not been able to ignore the nagging guilt that had appeared the moment he had spoken those words. He could not remember to what purpose he had said them, whether because he had wanted to show her how much exactly he knew, or perhaps just to spite her. All he could think of was that horror-struck look on her face as she had relived what might have been the worst day of her life. 

Had Iorveth himself not claimed that theirs was a dying cause? That they had to change their course if they were to succeed at anything? That inh'eids had just as much reason to hate humans as they did? The words he had told her had been the very proof of this; after all, the command of a _human_ had taken the most important person in her life away from her. But how could he possibly change the way his soldiers thought if he didn't make an example of himself?

These thoughts filled his head as he made his way out of the camp, carrying bowls in the direction of the tree against which she had been tied. When he saw the state of her, it became obvious that he was not the first to visit her. Ivor, he presumed, had come here too, for the bandages covering her leg looked brand new. He would let it slide though; it would not help the situation if she remained incapable of hunting for even longer. Though the cooking had improved greatly over the last few days, four elves and an inh'eid crowding the kitchen would never go well for much longer. 

When she had attacked him, he had felt anger burning inside of him, but when he had wanted to hit her back he had hesitated for a split second. Not long after that she had stopped struggling, and he had been able to _see_ her body trembling, though whether in grief or rage, Iorveth did not know. Had he gone soft already? She was not the first to have lost a parent, was not the only one with a tragic history. Iorveth himself boasted a particularly horrifying past, what with all the battles in which he had taken part and the scars he had received from them. What could possess him to cut her some slack? 

Gwen sat with her back against the trunk and her arms stuck by her side, staring at nothing in particular. Her head snapped up when she heard him approach, and the scowl on her face was immediate when she spotted him. Iorveth sighed, his nagging feeling of guilty already replaced by annoyance. All was well once more. 

"What, come to ask me some more questions?" she spat when she took note of what he had brought with him. "Do you perhaps wish to hear the details of her death, what her last words were? Well, they we--"

Iorveth interrupted her by forcing a spoonful of stew into her mouth, causing her to choke and cough. 

"Do you want to kill me as well now?!" she snapped, but quickly closed her mouth and turned her head to the side when he threatened her with another spoonful. 

"Covering your ears won't do anything for hiding your mixed nature if you continue to wear your heart on your sleeve like that," the elf said as he sat down in front of her, staring at her with his one eye while she struggled to pull up a blank mask. He couldn't help how the corner of his mouth twitched upwards; the half-elf was so easy to manipulate. 

The sight of her eyes when she looked up at him all of a sudden nailed him to the spot. He had thought them to be a simple brown, the colour of mud when it began to rain, for he had never seen them in broad daylight like this, without anger clouding them. Now he realised that they in fact were a dark shade of amber, flecks of gold scattered around her iris. In contrast to the eyes of elves, emotions raged about in them like wildfire, almost enticing the elf to lean closer and have a better look. 

He had heard and read of the human saying that the eyes were the windows to the soul, but had always scoffed at it, believing it to be the result of some perverted romantic side that the humans hid away whenever they did not feel like killing elves. It seemed, however, that he had been wrong. 

By the time he snapped out of his sudden reverie, Gwen had freed her arms and had begun feeding herself. Iorveth did not pretend to look surprised, and the inh'eid did not look surprised at his lack of it. Sometimes the two of them could come to silent agreements after all.

"Are you going to continue staring at my exceptional beauty or is there a purpose to your visit? Have you forgiven me for my outburst yet? Am I free to do as I please again?" She stopped speaking in favour of eating another spoonful of stew, after which she pressed the tip of the spoon against her lip, a thoughtful expression on her face. "The gods know the kitchen needs me."

Iorveth did not reply at once. He wanted to apologise, but why or for what he did not know. But if Gwen planned on acting as if nothing had happened, then Iorveth would play along.

"I wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten eaten by a nekker," he said instead.

With a snort, the inh'eid shook her head. "If nekkers came this close to your camp, you should replace your archers. Or perhaps they let one through on purpose, and then you'd have proof of elven corruptness right in front of you."

"Now listen here you little shit," Iorveth snapped all of a sudden, his invisible brows dipping down into a frown, "you cannot hope to become an integral part of this unit if you continue to act like an enraged beast all the time."

"Who said I _wanted_ to become a part of this -- this _circus_ ," Gwen yelled at him as she threw the empty bowl in his direction, where it landed just before his feet. "You act as though you actually gave me a choice. Oh, saviour that you are, helping out a poor wretched inh'eid, right?"

"I _did_ give you a choice. Join me, or--"

"Or be thrown out into the wild with a torn-up back, a broken leg and no weapons or other resources whatsoever. Do you honestly believe I chose you because I wanted to?" Gwen asked him while she looked at him, the question earnest in her gaze. Great, now she had started mocking him.

Iorveth flung the second bowl out into the bushes before he pushed himself off the ground. "Remind me to hang the next half-elf I come across."

"With pleasure!" Gwen screamed as he left. 

For a moment she did not know whether she should look at his retreating back, or to wherever he had thrown the bowl, though she couldn't save its contents anyway. Why did she constantly have to bite the hand that fed her? In her anger, at herself and Iorveth and _everything_ , she bit on her hand, so hard that tears filled her eyes. 

But at least her stomach had settled again, now that it had a little food filling it. She stared at where Iorveth had disappeared, back to the camp, and wondered what she should do now. He hadn't fixed her ropes, but Gwen wasn't quite sure that she should go after him just yet. And anyway, she didn't feel like following him in the first place; she couldn't stop seething. 

Muttering curses under her breath, she wriggled herself free from her pathetic binds and stood up with the help of the tree before she tested the pain in her leg. At least the few days of sitting on the ground and doing nothing had had _some_ use, though she couldn't believe that her wound had healed this fast. Didn't fractures take at least a couple of weeks to get better? Most likely the trap hadn't been as potent as everyone had thought. 

Gwen limped over to the next tree, away from the camp, before she leaned down and pulled a knife she had nabbed from the kitchen out of her boot, just in case any nekkers had managed to elude the guards after all. 

With her weapon in hand, she pushed herself from tree to tree, watching and waiting and then watching some more before she took another step. She had done this too often to let the anger inside of her make her rash. Plus, as long as it took her anywhere but here, she would take all the time she needed to get it done properly. Perhaps... perhaps going to Flotsam had been the better idea after all. Though at least now she would be doing it on her own terms, and not in the company of guards and murderers. 

Unfortunately for Gwen, however, she did not know exactly in which direction Flotsam lay. As a matter of fact, she did not even know where she was in the first place. She could hear water nearby and remembered that a stream flowed from the heart of the forest surrounding Flotsam to the river above the town, which meant it had to pass it as well. Her best bet would be following the stream, and that was exactly what she did when she found it after making her way down the hill on which the elves had situated their camp.

Before anything else, she pulled off her shoes and stepped into the water, a shiver running through her body at the coolness, but she revelled in the feeling instead of shunning it. She couldn't remember the last time she had cleaned herself, and so she kneeled so that she could hold her arms under water as well. Her clothes became wet because she dared not undress out here in the open where anything could jump out at her from behind a bush, but that only meant they got a cleaning too. 

For a few moments afterwards, she simply sat there, taking in her surroundings. In the camp she had always been surrounded by elves, she could never look anywhere without spotting at least one. Now all she could see was green, green and more green, and she loved it. If there was anything her mother had passed on to her, it was her love of nature, something which had been rather difficult to endure when they had still lived in Vengerberg. 

The half-elf took in a deep breath and couldn't help the smile that appeared on her face when she smelled all kinds of plants. Nothing but the sound of birds chirping, the wind blowing in the leaves and the water flowing around her filled the air, and for the first time in years she could admit that she felt truly at peace.

Her ire had waned in the meantime, so Gwen got up and decided to continue on her way before she turned back and apologised to Iorveth after all. She would rather be eaten by an endrega than make herself say sorry to that stupid elf. 

She did not know for how long she followed the stream, walking around trees and boulders that blocked the path and pushing through bushes that grew right on top of the water, but after a while, when nothing appeared to change, she began to doubt her own memory. Had she even remembered it right? What if she had just made herself completely and utterly lost? She knew she could survive in the wilderness, but that had been with a complete array of weapons on her back, not just a knife. 

The trees, which had been pleasant company in the beginning, began to close in on her and she froze to the spot, believing that she heard something somewhere behind her. She dared not to turn around and look, however, believing that perhaps whatever it was would leave her be if she did not move, but then she scolded herself for that wishful thinking and glanced over her shoulder.

Nothing. 

"See? You're only making yourself antsy," Gwen mumbled before she looked back ahead of her. If she squinted, she thought she could make out something red flicking in the distance: fire. And where fire was, life followed close by. 

Feeling triumphant, the half-elf allowed herself a grin as she continued to follow the stream, though this time she stayed clear of the water itself. She did not want the sound of her feet splashing through it attracting any attention, not when she thought she had almost reached her destination. 

It seemed, however, that she had managed to forget that most monsters functioned not only with their ears, but also with their noses.

The familiar sound of the ground rumbling reached Gwen's ears, and she whirled around just in time to see that she had passed a nekker nest hidden behind some bushes. Dust that had flown up into the air from their digging surrounded the area, and the half-elf stared in horror as three monsters arose from the ground, growling as they did so. 

"Shit," Gwen cursed and she took a step back, holding her knife out in front of her. She could never protect herself against three of these beasts - not in her current state. 

She threw a glance over her shoulder, to the torches in the distance, then looked back at the approaching nekkers. If she wanted to survive, she would have to run. 

And run she did, stumbling and staggering and yelping in pain as she went. Her leg gave out more often than not as she tried her best to sprint towards what she hoped would be her salvation. She did not look back, using the sounds the monsters made in order to gauge how close they had come. She knew they could run faster, but she also knew, or at least she hoped, that they would lose interest sooner rather than later if they went too far from their nests.

A scream tore itself from her throat when a claw grabbed her, but even before she had stopped yelling, her body began to move by itself. She whirled around all of a sudden, causing the nekker to stumble a bit, and brought up her other hand. Without hesitation, she slammed her knife into the beast's skull, and again, and again, and _again_ until the foul creature had stopped moving. 

Breathing heavily, she got up and brushed her hands off her breeches. Ignoring the trembling of her body, she turned around and made for the torches again, limping heavily as she went. Those few days of rest had been for naught now, she realised when even the slightest pressure caused a spasm of pain to run through her whole leg. 

And just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, the sounds of the earth rumbling and of nekker's growling appeared on her other side. She knew that this time she wouldn't be able to outrun them, but still she continued on her path, hoping for some miracle...

...which came in the form of arrows, pinning the monsters to the ground even before they had gotten the chance to straighten themselves.

Gwen remained where she stood and looked around her, but she could see no one else. She took a few small steps towards the torches, and once she passed one more tree on her left, leaning on it with her shoulder, she spotted the elf. He stood on top of a wooden platform built against another tree. 

Exhausted, the half-elf took a few deep breaths before she waded through the water that kept growing deeper here, her hand pressed against the stone to her left for balance. Human gatherers and women stopped to watched her crawl out of the stream and onto the bank, but they made way when the elf who had rescued her walked over to her. When he arrived where she sat, he offered her a hand, and after a moment of hesitation Gwen accepted the assistance. 

"Seherim, please fetch my supplies for me," he called out as he slung her arm across his shoulder and helped her through the field of herbs and berries.

Gwen had fallen asleep even before they could reach the elf's hut.


	7. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist spends a few days recuperating in the presence of our favourite elf, only for her vacation to get cut short.

Gwen groaned softly as she awoke from a dreamless sleep. She lay in a bed with a thick blanket covering her, something she had not felt in ages, and so she refused to open her eyes. At least for a little while. From outside she could hear the sounds of people going about their business, of dogs barking and chickens cooing and geese honking.

After a while, the half-elf almost began to believe that she had dreamed everything, and that she was still in Vengerberg. She could almost hear her mother knocking on the door to her room, yelling at her to get up, that she had slept half the day away, that she had to feed the pigs... 

But when she opened her eyes, half expecting to see her mother's angry eyes boring into hers, she at once noticed that the ceiling did not belong to her house in Vengerberg. Angry at her own disappointment, she pushed herself up and inspected the room in which she lay. 

In one corner stood two tables, pressed against each other to form a corner as well, with two chairs, and next to it was a pit filled with blazing coals, a pot hanging above it. In front of that another table and a bench had been placed. Planks hung on the walls, adorned with spoons and knives and the like. The bed stood in the centre of the wall opposite of all of this, and to her right was yet another table with candles on top of it. Above it was a small window, though from her position she couldn't see out of it. To her left was a woven basket, and a coat rack hung from the wall, though more ropes than coats occupied it.

With a frown, Gwen threw her legs over the edge of the bed. The very moment her feet touched the floor, she remembered the nekkers and the archer and the elf who had helped her. She bent down to inspect her leg, and found it freshly bandaged. When she shifted her weight to that leg, she was surprised by the lack of pain. She couldn't possibly have been out of for weeks, could she?

Deciding that staying here wouldn't get her any answers, she got up from the bed. Relief filled her when she found that putting all of her weight on her bad leg still hurt a bit and that she couldn't walk without limping slightly. 

She made her way to the door and opened it, finding it unlocked. At least the elf wasn't holding her captive. Where could she find said elf, anyway? Should she go around the village asking for him?

The elf solved this problem himself by calling out to her, and she spotted him standing on that platform again, holding an opened spyglass in his hand. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked her, and from the way he spoke it was obvious that he had had a drink too many.

Gwen walked over to him but hesitated at the ladder, inspecting it for a few moments before she attempted to climb it. The elf waited patiently for her as she made her way up. This time he didn't help her, as if he already knew that she wouldn't have accepted it.

"Who are you?" she asked at once, taking note of his black hair, combed back with two braids by his ears, and his brown eyes that stared at her in a way that made her uncomfortable. He swayed lightly on the spot, and Gwen wondered whether the small scar on the left side of the bridge of his nose came from a drunk accident. 

A human appeared from around the corner, wearing nothing more than striped pants, a harness around his torso and a cap, the brashness of his movements startling the half-elf. 

"Y'could start by thanking mister for saving your sorry ass, you damned Squirrel!" he yelled at her, and though she tried her best, she couldn't help but flinch at his harsh words. Somehow she had managed to forget the loudness that followed humans. 

The elf who had saved her held out a hand for the human. "Hugo, you shouldn't scare our guest like that. If I did what I do to receive thanks from others, then I'd have stopped a long time ago."

The human, Hugo, glanced at the half-elf once more before nodding and sauntering off. He released the crossbow he carried on the back of his harness and held it in his hand in some sort of display of power. 

"Forgive him. Everyone has heard much of the new member of the Scoia'tael," he told her as he lifted his spyglass and looked through it and Gwen wondered how they even knew what she was, since her ears were still covered. Without bringing the spyglass down, he continued, "But to answer your question, I am Cedric. And you are Gwenfrewi, named for the peace between two sides of the war, though with little success."

Gwen stared at him. She had never seen this man before, and his name didn't sound familiar to her either. "How did you know that?"

"I simply know certain things. It is why alcohol is my safe haven," he answered and lowered his spyglass to give her a bleary look, as if his intoxicated state had not been obvious enough from the way he talked.

"Sorry to hear that," Gwen said, though she didn't know whether she meant it. "That must also mean you know I prefer not to be called by that name." 

Cedric nodded his head in a sagely sort of way, as if he had already known this, or had expected as much. Or perhaps just because he was drunk.

"For how long have I been asleep? My leg feels much better, as does my back, but I can't possibly have been here for a week already, can I?" Gwen asked him when the elf only continued to look around him some more.

"You arrived here yesterday afternoon, and have been asleep ever since. Though I asked our herbalist to make you a potion to help heal your wounds." Before Gwen could thank him, he frowned and added, "What is it that brought you here in the first place? Did Iorveth send you for something? I hadn't thought he would use a single wounded Scoia'tael for that."

So he knew Iorveth. Gwen bristled at the mention of that name, anger once more boiling inside of her. And she had been so proud of herself that she had managed to keep her calm until now. 

"No, Iorveth knows better than to send me on an errand," she spat. "I ran, because I was fed up with him. With all those stupid elves. With _everything_! I never did anything to them but they have their scowls and their glares ready the very moment they lay eyes upon me."

"Do you mean, just like you?" He asked the question in a light tone, as though he had made a joke, but it was enough to stop Gwen's rant.

"I -- I... _They_ have always treated me like scum! From the moment I was born, they were ready to mistrust and mistreat me!" she all but yelled. "And anyway, didn't you say that you knew everything? Why ask me this then?"

"I said I know certain things, not everything," Cedric reminded her. "And the elves have reason to dislike others just as much as you do. The Scoia'tael fight for survival, clinging to the remnants of what once used to be, blind to the truth in front of them."

Gwen scowled at him. "Don't tell me you _sympathise_ with those brutes!"

"No, I do not." Cedric shook his head. "But I understand their plight, as I too took part of it once. I left them when I saw the error of their ways and came here to help the humans with the forest, for nobody understands it as I do."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire, huh," Gwen muttered, more to herself than to the elf. She could not understand why any non-human would willingly help the humans. After all they had done to the others. 

Cedric heard it anyway and let out a sigh. "I do not intend to persuade you otherwise. You are set in your ways, and only firsthand experience will change your mind. In this you resemble Iorveth, whom I at first tried to change as well, though with little success. But if he has taken you in, then perhaps he has begun to learn after all. That, or he is planning something."

"I -- _what_? I resemble that monster?" Gwen stared at the elf, too surprised to say anything else. 

He smiled as if he had expected the reaction, but did not give the response she wanted. "You must return to him. He has grown reckless since I last saw him, and you must make sure no harm befalls him until he has fulfilled his destiny."

"I won't take orders from a drunk. And anyway, how am _I_ supposed to make him less reckless? If anything, I'll make him commit suicide, and if not that, I'll murder the man myself," Gwen replied.

"Your presence should be enough," he said, but the frown on his forehead made it seem as though he did not know for sure.

"And why exactly should I return, knowing this?" Gwen asked. "I just might start here and wait for him to rot instead."

"Because you are a good person." 

The half-elf chocked on her own saliva and stuttered and stammered while she fumbled for a response. "Wait, what, I am anything but a good person! Good people don't kill others, and I've got a fair share of blood on my hands. I take lives, I don't save them!" 

Cedric only shook his head, but did not offer an explanation. "And because without him, many bad things will happen."

"Bad things? Like what? Dragons soaring through the sky and wars breaking out, all because of one dead Squirrel?" Gwen raised a brow. 

"Perhaps. I could not see those things clearly," Cedric replied, and the half-elf blanched at the thought of dragons and wars because of a lack of Iorveth in the world.

"All right, so say I _do_ return," Gwen said in an attempt to stay clear of this talk of doom. "How long do you propose I have to stay with him? When will I know he has fulfilled this so-called destiny? Though I'm not quite sure I believe there is such a thing."

"I cannot say. I wish I could inform you of this when the time has come, but I fear that by then I will no longer be here."

The half-elf frowned, confused. Did he mean that he had seen his own death? How could he say it in such an emotionally detached manner? Gwen dared not ask further, and instead she said, "So what you're saying is that I might as well spend the rest of my life with that bastard. And when he does happen to die, I'll get to lead my life never knowing if I failed or not. Is that what you're saying?"

The pained look on the elf's face was enough of an answer. He knew the impossibility of what he asked of her, but the fact that he had asked it of her in the first place struck something in her. Her mother had always had a deep respect for things such as destiny, after all, and she had often mentioned this to her daughter. Perhaps she, too, had had this gift, or curse, that Cedric claimed to have, and she had simply been nurturing her daughter to fulfil her goal in life. Gwen shook her head, tried to rid her mind of these thoughts. Cedric's drunk talk must have gotten to her head somehow. Still...

Gwen sighed, thinking back to her last promise to her mother. 

"Follow your destiny, child," she had told her, refusing to close her eyes until she had heard her daughter wail that she would. 

"Fine. I'll go back... but first I'd like to stay here for a few days."

And so Gwen spent the next three days in this small village called Lobinden. She procured other means of sleeping, preferring to remain outside even though she had been offered a bed. It had come from a human woman who lived here, and who had stated that a friend of Cedric's was a friend of hers. The sudden hospitality had surprised Gwen, and she had even stuttered when declining. She did not want to owe anybody anything, no matter their race. 

During the day she tried to evade those who lived in the village. She suspected that the only reason why they treated her with a semblance of respect was because of Cedric. Instead, she spent the hours with the elf on the platform, swapping stories about their lives in the wilderness. Gwen told him of the one time she had saved a wild dog from a whole swarm of nekkers who had then proceeded to follow her everywhere she went until it got killed by a human who mistook it for a wolf. In return, Cedric remembered that once he had been bathing in a lake, and a whole herd of deer had appeared and began to drink next to him as though he hadn't been there in the first place.

At night, she stared up at the stars through the leaves of the trees, feeling strangely nostalgic. She missed climbing in the branches, reaching the tree tops and using her height to determine her position, though she knew it might take a while before she regained her leg's full strength. 

And thus three days had passed, almost in the blink of an eye, when one of the villagers came running up to the platform, breathing heavily.

"Cedric! They've captured an elf from the forest! They plan on hanging her!" 

Gwen froze to the spot. An elf had to mean a Squirrel, one from Iorveth's unit. She doubted that he'd send a single elf out to do anything near the town, which meant there must be more nearby. But why would they come here in the first place? 

Then it struck her.

Iorveth had sent them to find _her_. And one of them had gotten caught and would most likely die. 

Now Gwen wasn't one to lament the death of anybody, humans and non-humans alike, as long as they died either by her hand or completely unrelated to her. She did not want anybody dying for her. 

But then again, had she been the one to get captured, those elves would have watched with smirks on their faces as the humans hanged her. Why should she of all people give a shit about one stupid elf who got herself caught searching for her?

Because she shouldn't lower herself to their level.

Great. She had spent four days in the presence of Cedric, _four_ bloody days, and already she had his voice in her head, speaking nonsense that made sense to her. The voice also claimed that she had to help the elf. Her fault, her responsibility...

Cedric placed a hand on her shoulder and when she glanced at him, she saw that stupid look of his again, the one that meant he knew what she thought. He never judged her for her ideas though, only offered her advice. 

"You must make sure that Loredo does not see you. He must be quite angry with you at the moment," Cedric warned her. 

"Who the fuck is Loredo? And what did I ever do you him?!" Gwen exclaimed. 

"When he heard that Stennis planned on shipping you off to Flotsam, he couldn't let the chance slip by, and so he paid him handsomely so that you were to... serve him. It would appear that he isn't happy you escaped," the elf replied in his calm, or drunk, voice, ignoring her sudden outburst.

Muttering a curse under her breath, Gwen punched a nearby tree trunk. She should have known that the so-called second chance Stennis had given her had been bogus. Now she realised that perhaps she had had a lot of luck when Iorveth had found her and not some bloede dh'oine. Men who paid for women to serve them, as Cedric had put it, did not want maids... 

Cedric placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry. Loredo never handles these executions himself, so as long as you stay clear of his quarters you should not be in any trouble. That is, if you do not get caught by one of his soldiers. You will need to create a distraction, since you are in no state to go about fighting armed men like that."

Gwen nodded, thinking back to how a few nekkers had already been too much for her to handle. She used to eat those beasts for breakfast! Figuratively speaking, that is. 

"How do I get to Flotsam from here?" she asked the elf, who waved a hand in the direction of the campfire situated at the centre of the village. 

"Behind that house is a small gate with two guards, that would be the quickest way to town," he explained. 

The half-elf nodded in response and turned to leave, but not before he added, "Good luck."

She would need it, and more.


	8. Worthless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist finds herself in a terrible situation and realises once more that she shouldn't rely on others to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Rape in this chapter! I tried to tone it down as much as possible, but it is what it is.
> 
> Not satisfied with Iorveth in this, but I hope my lovely readers find him to be in character. As I always do.
> 
> Song title goes to Bullet For My Valentine.

With her headband covering her ears and a sweet smile gracing her lips, Gwen managed to get past the guards and into the town easily enough. On the other side of the door she was greeted by the sight of water. She paid it no heed and climbed up the wooden floor that rose until it reached what must have been the town's ground floor. From where she stood she could already hear the murmuring of a crowd of peasants, waiting for something to happen. She could only hope she wasn't too late.

In her current state, however, she couldn't hope to fight the guards by herself and live. A distraction, Cedric had told her, but where could she find something to distract people with out here? 

The docks were almost completely deserted as Gwen made her way to the other side, past locked doors and posters with Iorveth's likeness on them. Here and there somebody stood, rummaging through cargo or cleaning the planks, but nobody paid her any heed. She took a corner to the right and followed the platform down to the water before resuming her way forward. When she reached actual ground, she came upon a spot without anybody in the near vicinity. She noticed a pile of wooden boxes close by and, taking a look around her, saw a couple of torches hanging in sconces. 

Telling herself to make haste and to not fear the fire, she walked over to the closest torch. She glanced around once more to make sure nobody else lurked nearby before she pulled it free, slowly so that she couldn't drop it or hurt herself. With it in hand, she went back to the pile of boxes, stopping to gather some dried straw on her way back. She scattered it around the wood and made to throw the torch on it all, prepared to sprint away the very moment she did so, only to feel something grab her. She managed to swallow her scream as she turned around and was greeted by the sight of two guards clad in armour. 

"What are you doing here?"

Without waiting for them to act, she dropped the torch, which missed its target and landed harmlessly on the ground, and ran off as best as her leg allowed her to. Even though the guards wore heavy armour that made them slow, one of them still managed to catch up with her even before she got to the end of the street. 

"Where do you think you're going?!" he yelled as he grabbed her by the arm once more, pulling her to a halt and turning her around to face him with one swift movement. 

It didn't take the other guard much longer to catch up with them, panting when he did. Gwen tried to pull herself free with all her might, but it only made her captor tighten his grip on her arm until it was all she could do not to whimper. Once she remained still again, her mind racing for a way out of this mess, he reached up and ripped her headband away. The guards could only stare at what the action revealed.

"Another bloody elf!" the second guard yelled, and Gwen bit her lip to keep quiet, annoyed by the fact that someone would even think of calling her an elf.

His friend jabbed him in the side with an elbow. "No, you dolt. It's quite obvious that it's a half-elf, can't you see? The ears aren't pointy enough."

If Gwen had received a sheep for every time she had heard _that_ , she'd never have to worry about going cold or hungry.

"I don't know what's worse. The fact that a human felt the need to get it on with an elf, or that the half-elf decided to join the Squirrels," the first guard, the one holding her, muttered.

"Well, have you seen those she-elves? One might claim that even the men are pretty lads," the other admitted as he stepped up to her other side to help his comrade to contain her.

"No!" Gwen yelled when they began to drag her onwards. She dug her heels into the ground and refused to relent, even when one of the men smacked her in her face. "No, no, no, no!"

She wanted to scream for help, but knew these people stood for the law in this place and that nobody would dare lift a finger against them. If they even wanted to do so in the first place. And she wanted to beg for mercy, wanted to yell, "Anything but that!" but knew that if she did, her fate might get even worse. Furthermore, Gwen did not beg. Ever.

Her struggles all ended up being in vain when the two men practically lifted her up so that her could no longer reached the ground. Her mind went black in terror and she knew that she had lost. She hung her head in defeat and the world went by as they carried her up a small slope. From here, she could hear the crowd from the other side of town yelling and booing, and she realised that they must have started bringing the criminals forward now. 

They met two more guards on their way up. One of them slept while leaning on his pike, snoring as he did so, but awoke when the others arrived. The other man eyed their captive to see what they had found. His mouth dropped open in realisation. 

"What? What is it?" the stupid guard, the one who had called Gwen an elf, asked him when his comrade remained silent, still gaping.

"That's the half-elf!" he shouted all of a sudden.

The guard to Gwen's left gave him a look before saying, "Yes, well done, you've figured it out. Ya never seen one before or what?"

"Yes I have," the other retorted, though he didn't look so sure. "But tha's not just any half-elf. Tha's the one Loredo was makin' such a fuss about, remember?"

The stupid guard jumped back at that, letting go of Gwen in the process. " _This_ is the royal basted Stennis wanted to get rid of?"

She took the opportunity to punch the remaining guard in the face, but he turned his head just in time. Instead her fist met chain mail, most likely hurting her more than him. Before she knew it, the guards yelled incoherent words at each other and the man grabbed her arm once more. Gwen swore under her breath. 

"Stupid whore. But yes, tha's right. Think o' how glad Loredo'll be now tha's fixed. He gets wha' he paid fo', and who knows, mayhap we get a nice lil' bonus."

"Hey, don't ya forget that we were the ones to find 'er!" the guard to her left exclaimed.

"Loredo don't have to know that, does he now? We're all friends here, ain't we? Looking out for each other?" the previously sleeping guard offered. "And anyway, we did cover for your asses last week when you--" 

The stupid guard shushed him, holding up a hand to interrupt him. "Will you let us through or not?"

"Right, of course," they said as though they had forgotten the whole purpose of their visit. 

They opened the gate to let them through, and they dragged the half-elf, who began to struggle again, with them. 

"Let me go! Bloede pavienn!" she cried out, most likely attracting the attention of everybody in the near vicinity. The Elder Speech had slipped from her tongue before she could stop herself. 

The guards made their way through the yard, up another hill, past a ballista and a few deserted tables. A few more guards stood here and there across the property, watching the scene unfold with curiosity. Gwen wanted to curse each and every one of these filthy humans, to chop off their private parts and to feed them to themselves. Perhaps to force the men to feed them to each other.

None of her pulling and tugging helped her at all, and before she knew it they had lugged her up a flight of stairs and into the house that occupied the top of the hill. A bald man stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed and brow raised as he watched his guards bring this uncooperative person upstairs. 

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked when they halted just beneath him, seeing as he blocked their path. 

"Look at what we found," the guard to her right said as his companion reached out to grab a fistful of Gwen's hair.

She had tried to keep her head down in the hope that he wouldn't recognise her and would send them away without hearing them out, annoyed by the interruption. That plan disintegrated right before her eyes when the guard yanked her hair upwards, forcing her to lift her head. Her angry eyes met those of him, and they took him in as he stood before her in all his glory. 

He wore a shirt that used to be white, but now sported so many stains that it looked more grey. Just above the collar she noticed the beginnings of a tattoo on his chest, and a silver chain hung around his neck, a fleur de lis attached to it. Armoured breeches covered his legs, and Gwen saw a dirk and a tankard dangling from the belt that only barely contained his stomach. 

"Look what we have here! And here I thought I had paid all that money for nothing," he said, raising a second brow as a grin broke out across his face. He leant down and grabbed Gwen's chin between two grubby fingers. "Do you have any idea how expensive rich bastards such as yourself are? You should consider yourself honoured I went through all the trouble. Especially since you're just an unwanted half-breed."

"Plough you," the half-elf spat at him, ripping her chin free from his grip. She swung one of her legs backwards in her anger, filling the tiny space with the yelp of a man whose family jewels had just been violated.

"And a feisty one at that," Loredo remarked, though he didn't seem too happy with what she had done. "Take her upstairs."

"No! Let go of me or so help me--" The remaining guard hit the back of her head with a gloved hand, and for a moment everything went black.

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on a bed, her arms tied to the headboard. The rope chafed her wrists when she began to struggle, trying to free herself, though with no luck. Her breeches pooled around her ankles, and those of Loredo were no where in sight when he entered the room through the doorway, his lower half naked.

"Ah, welcome back," he said and sniggered.

Gwen tried to yell at him, but all that left her mouth were muffled sounds; she had been gagged. 

_"No! This cannot be happening!_ she thought as he climbed on top of her, the weight of his fat belly pressing down on her. It almost made her throw up, but the feeling of something _else_ pressing against her made all thought and feeling leave her body. Perhaps if she lay still enough, he would lose interest and leave her...

Loredo pulled down her smallclothes with one hand while he squeezed her breast with the other. Tears sprung into her eyes, but she blinked them away before they could fall. Without thinking, she pressed her legs together, and the bastard had to pry them open with both hands to get what he wanted. He smiled at her defiance, at the fire that burned in her eyes, at her unwillingness to please. She hated men like that more than anything else. They took what they wanted and loved knowing they had to do so with force.

Memories from many years ago filled her head as he placed a knee between her legs and grasped her hips with both hands, nails digging into her skin even through her tunic. She should have thanked whatever gods that existed that he hadn't wanted to completely undress her, to witness what his actions done by a different man had afflicted upon her. She should have thanked those very gods that he didn't want to kiss her and instead simply sucked at her neck as he forced himself inside of her.

The smell of sweat almost overwhelmed her, and she choked back a cry. His heavy breathing combined with his groans filled her ears as he filled her, over and over again. His shirt crept upwards through his repeated movements, revealing his fat belly whenever he forced her to look down at him instead of up at the ceiling. 

The half-elf did not know how long she lay there, motionless while this pig continued with his ministrations. Once or twice he attempted to snake a hand down to press up against her, most likely in an attempt to get her to make a sound. Thankfully he lost interest sooner rather than later and instead opted to grab a breast, or her hips, or her bottom. 

It didn't take long, yet still far _too_ long, before he quickened his pace, more groans leaving him than that breaths entered him, until he let out one string of strangled sounds. His hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself into his victim, who had taken to biting her tongue so hard she tasted blood. All to prevent herself from making a single noise. 

When he finished, he rolled off of her and sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing her. He sighed when he turned to look at her, but the half-elf refused to look at him, tried to hide her face behind her arms. The sight made him chuckle. 

He pushed himself off the bed, but before he could do or say anything more, something flew at him. With a _thwang_ it pinned Loredo's hand to the wall behind him, and the man let out a yell, pain and surprise mingled in his voice. Gwen turned her head at the sound, noticing the arrow that had dug itself into the flesh of his hand and into the wood of the wall. She saw a shadow moving through the room, though it was too dark to see who or what, and in that moment she didn't particularly care about that. 

"Who-- what--" Loredo began, but by then the shadow had already reached him, a hand to the back of his neck knocking him out. 

When the stranger moved closer to the bed, Gwen thought to recognise Ivor, but didn't verify it for herself. What did it matter, anyway? What was done, was done. Either way, her eyes followed him as he kneeled next to her, anger for once written on his face as he pulled up her smallclothes and breeches. For a moment Gwen feared that he would direct his fury at her, especially when he pulled out a dagger and moved it towards the half-elf. She didn't shy away, however, and he surprised her by using it to cut the ropes binding her wrists. 

Once he had freed them, he held her arms to inspect the bruises the ropes had left behind. The expression on his face told Gwen he did not like what he saw, and a voice inside of her wondered why he even cared. 

Gwen had been trembling all the while, though this she only realised when Ivor's arms encased her and picked her up, holding her close his chest. Her teeth chattered though she didn't feel cold and the grip she held on Ivor's sleeves kept slipping as she could not find purchase. 

The elf carried her down the stairs, past guards who lay out cold on the ground, until they arrived at the ballista. There he carefully moved her to his back before descending down the stone wall by a rope that hung there, his arms straining to hold the weight of both of them. The rope took them to the docks of Flotsam, where Ivor turned to the left towards the water, away from the buildings. 

Squirrels stood there, waiting for him and helping the two of them with climbing a few rocks, looks of surprise crossing their faces when they noticed his baggage. They didn't ask questions and Ivor didn't give explanations as he carried the half-elf in front of him once more, on their way back to the camp. The elf that Gwen had wanted to rescue was part of the group, but the half-elf did not seem to notice or care. 

When they reached the camp, Iorveth stood at the front of the crowd, awaiting their return. He frowned when he saw the state of Gwen, and many Squirrels looked at her either in surprise or with pity. Their commander dispersed them with a wave of his hand before he came forward to help Ivor with his burden.

"What happened?" he snapped at Ivor as the man gently placed her on the ground, leaning her back against a tree trunk. Iorveth doubted that the blood coating the insides of the half-elf's legs were of the natural kind.

Ivor opened his mouth to reply, but the very moment Gwen came in contact with the floor her eyes widened and she shot up. She stumbled, landed on her hands and knees and promptly began to throw up, coughing and sputtering all the while. Ivor rushed to her side and made to hold her hair for her, but without looking up she slapped his hands away.

"Don't!" she yelled once she had stopped heaving, but her voice cracked and the rest came out as a hoarse whisper. "Touch me..."

Iorveth saw tears form in her eyes and drip down her cheeks, but she turned away from him, not daring to meet his gaze. Without another word, she limped over to a low-hanging branch on the tree and, though her arms were visibly shaking, pulled herself onto it. The commander didn't intervene and watched as she slowly made her way up, wincing every now and then.

Once the leaves blocked the view of her, Iorveth turned to Ivor, anger in his eye, and he repeated his question. "What happened?" 

Ivor held up his hands and the pained look on the man's face managed to cool down the fire inside the unit leader, though only a little.

"She arrived at Cedric's a few days ago, and when she heard that Saoirse had been caught, she wanted to help her, who knows why. But Loredo..." Ivor's voice trailed off, and Iorveth filled the silence with a curse.

"That bastard paid for her after all. I hope the dh'oine _paid_ for his actions," Iorveth snarled, his eye narrowing at Ivor, willing him to give him confirmation. 

The look on the elf's face was enough of an answer, however, and the commander took a step towards his soldier. 

"Cedric told us to keep him alive! He said that without him, things would get even worse for the non-humans," Ivor explained.

Iorveth spat on the ground. "Malu cachu! That Cedric was always too weak when it came down to it!"

He looked up at where Gwen had disappeared, his fists clenching at the thought of some filthy human forcing himself on her. On _any_ in his unit. Ivor slipped away while he was distracted, hoping to evade the man's wrath while he still could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloede pavienn: Bloody ape... Of course meant as plural, but unfortunately I have no clue how the rules for plural words are in the Elder Speech, so forgive the crudeness of the solution (Elder Speech)  
> Malu cachu: bullshit (Welsh)


	9. Shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist has to cope with the previous happenings... or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I find that Iorveth's personality simply challenges me. Still not sure whether I'm enjoying it or frustrated by it, lol. Feedback would be much appreciated, I have no idea if what I'm doing is any good!
> 
> Song title comes from Tesseract's song "Proxy".

Where once hatred used to be, now only pity remained. Wherever she went, elves either looked away so they could not glare at her, or shot worried looks her way. Most simply evaded her, not knowing how to act. After all, she had, as the humans liked to say, 'taken one for the team'. That made her part of them, though they still felt uncomfortable with her presence.

Gwen hated it. It disgusted her. She wanted them to scowl and hate, wanted them to snap and sneer at her. She knew how to react to that, knew how to defend herself against a verbal attack. This, however, she had no idea what to do with. 

She continued to treat everyone with as much disdain as before, but got nothing in return. When Aderyn joined her in her tree, offering her a cup of water and herbs that would prevent any unwanted pregnancies, she had accepted it but had ignored the elf herself. When Iorveth, who had disappeared for most of the past week, had dragged her down so that she would clean herself with the help of Brigid, she had put on a stony mask and did as commanded, but had not made it easy for anybody. The commander seemed to be the only point of refuge in this camp, the only one to answer her hate with anger and her scowls with glares of his own. 

More than a week had passed when Gwen finally seemed to calm down a little. On this particular day, she busied herself with making arrows for the elves, for she still refused to work with anybody else for now and being the poor little half-elf that she was, she got her wish fulfilled. She looked up at the sound of armour clinking and saw Iorveth sauntering towards her. For once his usually empty expression had made way for one that made his unhappiness at something obvious. 

"Come with me," he ordered her without stopping. 

Gwen watched him walk by and for a moment she contemplated ignoring him and continuing with her work, but curiosity got the best of her. In the time she had spent in this camp, she had learned that Iorveth was not one for doing things without purpose. 

Out of the camp he had gone, down the hill and to the nameless lake that lay just at the foot of it, next to a nekker-infested waterfall which the elves regularly took care of. As she followed him from a distance, she couldn't help but frown and wonder what he had planned. What did he need of her for which he had to make his way down here?

When she stopped next to him, he had taken out one of his swords and had started to clean it with water from the lake, though Gwen could not discern any signs of dirt on it. She had never understood some men's obsessive need to clean their weapons in every free moment. 

The half-elf cleared her throat when Iorveth seemed not to notice her presence. He didn't look up from his sword as he nodded in the direction of the lake. "Clean yourself. I want to see how much you have healed."

"W-what?" Gwen stammered as she pressed her legs together almost instinctively. 

"You have ears, do you not? I have to be able to see for myself whether you are fit to fight yet," Iorveth replied. He sounded exasperated, though his face remained as passive as ever. 

"Can't somebody else do that for you?" she snapped at him as she took a step back, planning on turning and leaving him there by the water. 

Before she could do so, however, Iorveth had already gotten up from his spot. His fingers caught her wrist in the blink of an eye and he examined it, though her wince already told him enough. Without waiting, he tilted her head to the side to inspect the spot on her neck which had almost completely faded away by now, and his fingers were about to lift her tunic to inspect any other bruises he did not know of when Gwen pushed him away from her.

"Don't touch me like that!" she yelled, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. 

Iorveth watched her as the realisation of her actions dawned on her, and she scowled at him. Until now she had pretended that what had happened had not affected her, had played it cool and had evaded any inquiries about her health and how she felt. He must have noticed that only he acted normal around her, and that perhaps she would start talking to him. _Him_ of all people. 

"I know what you're doing. And I know it won't work," he said without letting go of her arms. He had grabbed them when she had 0tried to fling him into the lake behind him. 

"What? That I'm doing what exactly? There's nothing wrong with me, you and all the others, you are the ones acting differently!" Gwen exclaimed as she waved both her arms and his around. Now it was her turn to sound exasperated. 

The commander gave her a sharp look.

"Gwen," he started, probably using her preferred name just to please her in that moment. "That cachwr raped you and denying it won't help any of us."

"Shut up!" she replied and she ripped herself free so that she could turn her back to him, hugging herself as she stared at nothing. 

He was lying. They were all lying. These stupid elves only wanted to see her hurt, they would do anything to drag her down. She couldn't remember anything like that happening at all! Or could she? 

If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could hear him breathing in her ear again, could smell the stench of him surrounding her, could feel him inside of her. She tightened her grip on her sides and remembered how his nails had dug into her skin there, still sore from the abuse. 

And in that moment, the half-elf realised that she was all alone in this world and that that would always remain so. She had no one who would help her; at least back then she had had her mother to reassure her and pull her through.

"It wasn't the first time, and it might not be the last," she finally whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "This world is not a place for half-breeds like me. I thought I had learned that a long time ago, but it seems that I had to be reminded."

Strong hands once more grabbed her arm and spun her around so that she was facing Iorveth once more. The anger in his bright green eye surprised her, and she found herself wondering how he had lost the other one. 

"You stupid bitch," Iorveth spat at her, "this is no way to get over something like that."

"And how would _you_ know that?" Gwen threw back at him, venom lacing her words. "Have you ever been at the mercy of a man who would not take no for an answer? Who would force himself on you and in you, in more ways than one? Do you--"

The sound of leather against skin filled the air, and all of a sudden it seemed as if the whole world held its breath, awaiting the next move. 

Gwen lifted a trembling hand to press against her cheek, which must have become red and swollen already. Both her eyes and mouth were wide open, and she knew not how to react. 

"No, I do not know any of this," Iorveth replied in an almost cool manner, "but I do know that this is not the way to recover. You are not the only one who has suffered such things."

He reached out and turned her head to look at him again. Though his demeanour was cold, the anger in his eye had turned into fury. Gwen wanted to pull away from him, to scream at him and to kick at him, but his gaze made her feel so small that she dared not move from her spot. 

"I won't apologise," he went on when she remained silent. "I did not become the leader of this unit without knowing what people needed and when they needed it. You belong to me just as much as any elf here, and while you are a part of us you are my responsibility." Letting go of her, he got to his feet and retrieved his sword, reattaching it to his belt. "I have failed you once already, and now I am to make sure you recover, whatever the cost. Understood?"

When he stood in front of her again, he looked down at her, holding out a hand to her. The fire in his eye had died out, and instead he held an inquisitive look. She realised he wanted an answer from her, and so she nodded mutely. 

She had planned on making that her only reaction, but she couldn't help the tears that filled her eyes as she placed her hand in his and let him help her up. He investigated a suddenly very interesting patch of grass somewhere to the side while she wiped the back of her hand across her face. 

That night, just like all the nights before that since she had returned from Flotsam, she dreamed not of fires and flames but of a weight pressing down on her and that horrible groaning in her ear. These nightmares were worse than those from before; she had mostly gotten used to those after years of reliving them. Now she awoke from every sleep, her limbs tired from thrashing and her skin sticky with sweat.

When her eyes flew open that night and she took in a deep breath, she sat up, annoyed with herself. It had taken her months to come to peace the last time this had happened, how had she expected to be better after only a week this time? Though the circumstances and consequences had been different back then, she still shouldn't have taken it lightly. Somehow she had managed to forget all about that, though she had never realised it and thus had never the chance to be thankful for it. 

Once she had exited the tent, the cool night air greeted her skin in a pleasant manner, and she stood there for a few moments, her eyes on the sky above. Between the leaves she could spy a few stars here and there, just like back in Lobinden. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since she had last spoken to Cedric. Anger ignited inside of her at the thought of that elf, and without thinking she clenched her hands into fists to control her temper. She couldn't forgive him for sending her off to Flotsam like that when he should have seen what would happen. If he had bothered to stay sober and not live off of vodka. 

Forcing herself to think of other things, Gwen pondered whether she should search for Ivor, but then she remembered the last time she had seen him. She had thought that at least he would behave the same as before, but since he had been the one to find her, being with him was even worse than with the other elves. Those she had never truly known, they were strangers to her, though she hadn't known Ivor for very long either. Still, it had felt like betrayal when he, too, began to avoid her.

Without realising it, her legs had brought her to a certain other tent farther into the forest. The camp covered quite a bit of ground, with many tents scattered between the trees whereas humans would have just cut them down. The elven territory stretched out from behind the statue above Cáelmewedd, the ruined elven baths, to what many people seemed to call Iorveth's hideout, though in reality an arachas occupied it more often than the elf did. 

Her cheek throbbed at the thought of Iorveth, and she brought up a hand to press against the hot skin that most likely still sported a bright red hue.

As if on cue, said elf appeared from behind the trees, naked from his waist up and wearing only a thin pair of dark breeches. Gwen stared at him for a few moments. In the dimness of the night she could only discern a few large scars covering his torso, and that flower pattern on the nape of his neck that spread out across his shoulder and the left side of his chest. She did not recognise him at first due to his lack of attire. After all, she had only seen him with his many layers of armour until now. 

Iorveth looked almost just as surprised as she did when he saw her. He immediately reached up and pulled his scarf down to cover his scar, even before the half-elf had realised that it hadn't been there in the first place. 

"What are you doing here?" Gwen asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. After her episode by the waterfall, she feared that her leader would view her different as well now.

Iorveth scoffed, and the sound would have pleased the half-elf had it not first annoyed her. "I could ask you the same thing. Last time I checked, this was still my tent."

"Oh, so _you_ do get your own tent, huh?" Gwen retorted, hands on her hips as she frowned at the elf.

"You didn't happen to get lost on your way to find a spot to make water, did you?" Iorveth retorted, ignoring her remark. 

Gwen snorted. "If anything, I found the perfect spot to take a shit. Right in front of your tent entrance, that is."

The elf narrowed his eye before it moved down to observe her cheek. He reached up and ran a thumb across the darkened skin. Gwen had to bite on her lip not to wince; the skin was still sensitive from where he had hit her. 

He looked like he wanted to say something, perhaps apologise, but when he opened his mouth he said, "Since it seems that neither of us will be falling asleep anytime soon again, what do you say to a bit of sparring?"

"I never said I couldn't sleep," she protested as she pulled her head away from his hand, but Iorveth ignored her again and wandered off without waiting for her.

Gwen stared after him before deciding that she had nothing left to lose. Her pride had evaporated in the past few days, no matter how hard she clung to the remnants that still remained behind. How this 'sparring' with Iorveth would help her with any problems, she did not know. If anything it would most likely make everything worse; though her leg had almost completely healed, thanks to that potion in Lobinden, she had lost a lot of her energy and power during her weeks of inactivity. Next to that, Iorveth had to be a formidable warrior since had had become such a legend in many different countries. No doubt he would annihilate her within moments. 

Whatever the case, she went after him after, wondering where he would lead her. She passed more tents and trees, and here and there an elf. The leaves and moss beneath her feet tickled her soles; she had taken to walking around barefoot in the camp and her feet still lacked the callus they had once sported. 

The half-elf found the unit leader standing at the opposite side of a small clearing, one like the 'kitchen', but smaller. Iorveth leant against a broad trunk with his arms crossed, his eye on her as she entered the space. Moonlight shone down on the patch of grass, making it seem bright grey instead of green, and Gwen could finally see the extent of the scars that littered the elf's torso. 

He didn't seem to appreciate this, for he straightened himself and sauntered over to the centre of the clearing. A challenge shone brightly in his eye, and he stood with his feet set wide apart, the muscles in his body taut with anticipation. Without thinking, Gwen clenched her hands, excitement filling her at the prospect of a fight.

She squinted her eyes at him as she took a few steps in his direction, meeting him in the middle. It had been quite a while since she had done anything like this; most of the past few months she had spent mostly running away. Even as she wondered how much she still knew, her body took on a defensive position all by itself. 

With one fist in the air and the other close to her chest, ready to strike at a moment's notice, she eyed him as he mirrored her movements. They circled around each other for a while, neither of them making the first move, trying to gauge the other's prowess. 

She lifted her right arm even before he threw the punch which she guided away from her face, and swung her left arm before he had recovered from her defensive manoeuvre, slamming her fist into his stomach. He coughed at the impact, mostly in surprise. 

He hadn't expected this from her. Or perhaps she had had a bit of luck. Those were the thoughts which she knew ran through his mind in that moment, and they made her grin. 

Next he threw her a few weak slams here and there which she easily dodged or countered, and she raised a brow at him in a challenge. He responded to this by throwing up his knee all of a sudden. Had she been a blink later with bringing her arms up, she would have lain on the ground, writhing in pain. 

The commander pulled his knee away and jumped back a few steps, circled her and fired a few jabs here and there as she forced her feet to move her along with him. A few times they got caught on each other and he landed a hit on her shoulder or her side. Once his knuckles even managed to graze her face and the sight of blood on the back of her hand dismayed her when she wiped her nose. 

By the time he stood still again, she had begun to breathe heavily, her body aching where he had hit her. The elf, on the other hand, only sported a sheen of sweat on his skin and a red spot on his torso. Though she couldn't see his brows, she knew he had raised one, mocking her for her previous arrogance. 

She began to lower her arms, but when she noticed that Iorveth continued to hold his up, regarding her with a suspicious look, she changed her plan. Instead, she dropped to the ground and swung a leg at him, and he went down with a yell while she jumped up. It didn't take him long to roll over and push himself up, but Gwen used the moment's reprieve to wipe a hand across her face and to catch her breath again. 

Even before he had completely recovered from the fall, her other leg shot out to take advantage of the moment. Her eyes widened when he wrapped his fingers around her ankle, and she tried to pull herself free but he would not let go. A smirk appeared on the elf's face and he added a second hand to her leg. 

All of a sudden, Gwen was soaring through the air, but somehow she had managed to get a hold of his arm as he flung her over his shoulder. The action cut the whole manoeuvre short, and her back hit the ground with a painful smack, Iorveth landing right on top of her. 

The elf looked up and found himself staring right into Gwen's eyes, their noses a hair's width apart. His eye, colourless in the darkness of the night, was blank as it wandered across her face. She hated that the most about elven eyes; with humans a single glance often told one what they thought. Elves, on the other hand, had to hide all that behind layers upon layers of empty shell.

The feeling of his skin against hers and his weight on top of her made her uncomfortable. His fingers, which had found her hips in their fall, twitched and though the bruises there had begun to fade, she winced and suddenly she was back in Loredo's bed. She froze, dread filling her as it had back then. Her stomach churned and for a moment she feared she would throw up, until the offender rolled off of her and she was in the forest once more. 

"Squass'me," he murmured, his eye now everywhere but on her. 

Gwen swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath before she pushed herself up to regard Iorveth. Only then did his gaze meet hers again, and for a moment the half-elf believed to see something... warm, almost. 

Without a word, she shook her head, dismissing the apology. It wasn't his fault, he hadn't been the one to rape her, after all. For some reason it surprised her when she realised that of all the stories about his deeds against so-called innocent humans, rape had never once appeared. Perhaps elves were better than humans after all.

In the meantime, Iorveth had gotten to his feet. He extended his hand to help her up and said, "I believe you are fit to start coming with us from now on."

She eyed his hand, seeing them for the first time without his gloves. Short nails with jagged edges from lack of proper care and calloused finger tips greeted her, and she even spotted a scar here and there. He dropped it to his side when she shook her head again.

"Let me stay here for a bit," she said. "And I doubt anyone here will be willing to work with me. You never know, they might hurt me, the poor raped inh'eid, somehow."

Her brows knitted into a frown at the thought. Now she was longer simply a disgusting wretched half-elf; no, now she was a poor raped half-elf who had sacrificed herself for one of their own. She did know which one she preferred.

"If they are foolish enough for such things, then I suppose I'll have to train you myself." And with that, he turned and left, resolute. 

He had to know about the change in his soldier's demeanour towards her, or otherwise one couldn't have called him a good leader. So he must have said that with the intent of following through with it. But training with Iorveth himself? Gwen couldn't help the shiver than ran down her back.

Now that the close proximity with the man had disappeared and the sudden flashback had waned, all the half-elf could think about was the commander's nose almost touching hers. He had only had to tilt he head and lower it, and they would have kissed. She wondered what it would feel like to run her tongue across his scar, to see what kind of disfigurement he hid beneath that bandana of his, and only then did Gwen realise she was in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cachwr: shitter (Welsh)  
> Squass'me: I'm sorry (Elder Speech)


	10. Wasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist struggles with emotional problems and a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title comes from the song "Wash It All Away" by Five Finger Death Punch. Warning: self-harm in this chapter.

Gwen had been gone for only a few hours, lying in her tent because her lack of sleep had caught up with her, only to awaken to the sound of restless murmuring and rain drops hitting the canvas of the tent. She crawled out into the open, rubbing her aching leg as she noted that everyone had come together somewhere else. 

Ignoring the rain, the half-elf followed the noise and had stumbled across a crowd of noisy elves. Those at the back glanced at her when they noticed her arrival and moved to the side. She accepted the spot and stood on the tips of her toes to see what was going on. 

A large man stood there, talking to Iorveth, Ciaran and some other elf whose name Gwen did not know. Her stomach churned at the sight of the human; not just from the memories that never seemed far off but also because of the grotesque scars on his bald head. That, and his golden eyes made her feel restless.

A Witcher, she realised. _The_ Witcher, the one Iorveth had allied himself with. Gwen had never seen a Witcher before but she had always pictured them as something else. She did not like their kind and everything involved with them, but she could not deny that they, too, received as much scorn from the humans as non-humans did. Plus, this one had killed Demavend. She ought to give him the benefit of the doubt just because he had rid the world of a man like that. 

"We must begin preparations sooner rather than later if we are to fulfil this plan in time," Gwen heard Iorveth say.

The Witcher spoke in a deep voice with an accent Gwen couldn't place. "Perhaps you should start by showing me where those hidden pathways lie."

Iorveth remained silent for too long, Gwen thought, and she could picture the look on his face as he stared at the Witcher.

"Patience, vatt'ghern. We will come to that when we get there," the unfamiliar elf sneered in his leader's stead.

Gwen had to snort at the irony of hearing one of the Scoia'tael speak of patience. And now the elf was most likely receiving Iorveth's glare as well.

As she had predicted, Iorveth snapped, "And you will speak when spoken to."

"Y-yes, Iorveth," the elf stammered. All signs of confidence had disappeared and when he spoke, he did so sounding ashamed and embarrassed.

From where she stood, Gwen saw Iorveth turn to the crowd before he announced, "Everyone get back to your duties. Don't worry, I won't decide anything without your consent, and so you'll be notified when we have come to an agreement."

The elves scattered, muttering to themselves and each other as they did so. The half-elf didn't wait long, fearing that she might remain in the presence of the Witcher all by herself. She sought out the kitchen, where she had been reassigned once again until further notice. 

They had built a small pavilion above the fires, kettles and pots to keep away the rain, but this also forced them all to huddle together in the small space as they worked. At least Dylan no longer glared at her whenever he could, though she wasn't about to relent her own glare in return. His sister, thankfully, continued to glower as if her life depended on it. It was a refreshing sight to behold, that much Gwen could admit, though unfortunately she was absent that day. 

"What do you think of this vatt'ghern business?" Brigid asked no one in particular as they all sat around the kettle, each doing their own job. 

"I don't like it one bit," Aderyn admitted with a frown. "Trouble follows those people like a plague. Mark my words, nothing good will come of this alliance."

"It's a necessary evil," Dylan retorted stiffly. He still wasn't used to not snapping whenever in the presence of the half-elf.

"What is it about Witchers that you fear?" Gwen asked as she continue to stir the contents of the cauldron, curious all of a sudden.

"I used to live in a small village in Temeria, with dh'oine, seidhe and even neygharimm living together in peace, though you might not believe such a place to exist." Aderyn let out a sigh. "One day, however, a vatt'ghern arrived. 'Just passing through', he had said, but the next thing we knew the whole village was in fire and flames and almost everyone had died in their sleep." The elf paused for a moment, frown deepening as she violently chopped up the meat of a rabbit into tiny little pieces. Then she added, "Even before the ashes had grown cold, he left and said we ought to be thankful he didn't charge us for helping us."

Brigid shook her head, her expression solemn. It was obvious she had heard the tale before.

"How come you joined the Squirrels if you grew up together with humans?" Gwen went on, confused. 

"We're Scoia'tael," Dylan interrupted meekly, averting his gaze from the half-elf. "Not _Squirrels_."

Aderyn glanced at him before shooting a contemplative look at Gwen. "You lived between the dh'oine as well, did you not? From what I gather this was not a pleasant time for you. I joined Iorveth because I believe that everyone should be able to live among other races in peace. Even dh'oine."

At those words, Gwen couldn't help but snort. "You try to make me more susceptible to your reasoning with that, but you forget that there hasn't been a time for me that was pleasant to begin with."

"I am sorry to hear that, and will continue to fight so that people like you too may one day live in peace," the other woman replied, earning herself a surprised look from Gwen. The half-elf quickly looked away, afraid the mushiness would get to her.

Brigid's lips had formed into a small smile when she, as if to divert the attention, murmured, "I like him. The vatt'ghern, I mean. He looked calm, even when surrounded by a force that could overpower him and of which he didn't know if they would try to do so or not. I believe he'll be able to help us."

"Be careful with what you say, Brigid," Dylan interrupted sharply as he threw some chopped onions into the cauldron. "He should not outstay his welcome either. Who knows what will happen then. Iorveth might be the strongest of us all, but he can't possibly compete with a vatt'ghern."

Gwen listened to the rest of the conversation in stunned silence. She had always thought that the elves worshipped Iorveth like an invincible hero, or perhaps even some sort of god. It seemed, however, that they were painfully aware of their leader's capabilities and his shortcomings. 

"What about you?" she asked Brigid when they had grown quiet. "You did not hate me at the beginning. Do you not hate humans as well?"

The girl, for Gwen viewed her as such, lowered her eyes and began to play with the loose ends of her tunic. Aderyn pulled her close while Dylan grumbled something in disgust, which earned him a sharp look from the former.

"She used to live with her parents in Flotsam. One day during festivities, a group of guards had had a bit too much to drink, and they took her from the crowd and used her there in the streets," Aderyn explained as she brushed her friend's hair out of her face. "She was so ashamed afterwards that she left for Lobinden without a word to her parents. Cedric sent her to us, believing that would be best for her."

"If I ever set foot in that place, I'll--" Dylan began, but Aderyn cut him off.

" _You_ won't be setting foot anywhere, and you know that," she said without looking at him. It had the wished effect though, and the elf looked at his feet once more. 

Everyone remained silent for a few more moments until Gwen, hesitating slightly, asked, "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"To show you that we know what it's like as well. That everyone in this camp has their own story, and everyone has once gotten those looks from the others. Eventually everything will return to the way it was before, but I hope for you that they'll be less hateful than they used to be."

Aderyn's words still rang through Gwen's mind that evening as she stared at her wrists. The lines that once covered them had almost completely disappeared; one could only notice them if one knew of their existence. She missed the kick she got from angering someone, of listening to someone yell at her and yelling right back, of the sneers they sent her way. 

A strange sense of emptiness overtook her as she lifted the knife and pressed it to the skin. If she did not know how to cope with this lack of hatred, she would have to fill it with pain. She could deal with pain, that was her only certainty as she watched the drops of blood well up and slide down her arm, gathering at her elbow before dripping down to the ground. 

The sting brought up memories, both old and new, and she found herself in many different places at many different times. She had started with this after her first rape, but had stopped when the forceful lovemaking had turned into lustful reunions. When she found out that she was with child, she had started again only for her mother find and scold her. She had replaced that need to hurt until she had died. Over the course of many years, moving from town to town, village to village, meal to meal Gwen had felt enough pain in hunger and thirst. Until this moment she also hadn't had the time.

She carved a second line to make up for time lost, a third one just because she hated herself, a fourth because of Loredo's weight that haunted her day and night. A fifth she added because she couldn't be bothered to stop now, and a sixth because she thought five such an ungainly number to leave it at. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Iorveth's voice hissed from next to her all of a sudden as he yanked her arm forward so he could see for himself.

Her cheeks burned a bright red, a combination of anger and humiliation, and she ripped her arm free, all the while wondering why she hadn't heard his armour any earlier. She held it to her chest, but that only caused her to smear blood all over the front of her tunic. 

Her timid eyes met his stormy one, and she realised that perhaps she should have carved this man's name into her arm instead. Danger, caution, stay away from him. Do not get closer to him than necessary. 

"That's none of your business," she snapped. "What do you want from me?"

He beheld her for a moment, grimacing as he did so, before he replied, "I came to inform you that I've decided you'll be joining us on our next hunt, but I see that perhaps you are not quite ready yet after all."

"What? No!" Gwen took a step in his direction and all but snarled. "I'm _fine_! This isn't my fault! It's because you all look at me with those sad puppy dog eyes!" She hesitated for a moment before turning away, her back now facing the elf. "You should just go back to hating me. I know how to be hated. It's all I know."

When she glanced over her shoulder, she almost blanched. Iorveth's rage had left him and now he looked up her with that bloody pity in his eyes, his hidden brows raised slightly. No, not him as well... Gwen felt hopelessly alone in that moment and squeezed the cuts on her arm, the pain comforting her as it always had. People always changed. Pain never did. 

Before she could hurl any more insults his way, he said, "Tomorrow I will take some people hunting. You will be coming alone, so get that arm cleaned and don't let me see you doing it again."

His glare returned as he left, but he didn't do so without first patting her on the shoulder. Brows scrunched in confusion, she turned to see the lake and its waterfall, only to wonder how she had gotten here in the first place. 

Gloved hands were on her shoulders all of a sudden, kneading them gently. She almost screamed at the intrusion, but managed to bite her tongue in time as she glanced behind her. Whoever stood there slipped around the other side before she could identify them, but this time the clinking of armour tipped her off.

Iorveth held onto her red arm and washed the blood away with water from the lake, smearing some of it out along her skin. When he looked up at her, her stared at her from under his brows, his green eyes devoid of any emotion or thought.

The half-elf frowned deepened at the sight. The scar still remained on the right side of his face and went all the way up to his eye, but there it stopped. Where had his scarf gone? 

She was just about to ask him this when he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers. Both of them had chapped lips, but the elf didn't seem to mind as he pushed her over until her back lay on the ground. As his tongue explored her mouth, which had opened in her surprise, his hands moved from her shoulders to her hands, slowly, almost sensually. His fingers wrapped around her wrists and at once Gwen tensed.

Iorveth did not seem to notice or care as he brought her arms up, holding them above her head and not letting go. Gwen struggled to pull herself free and bit on the commander's lip. That only made him smirk into the kiss as he ground his hips against hers and she realised that somehow he had lost most of his armour. When...?

But then one of his hands released her, though one hand was enough for both of hers, and her struggle grew. In an attempt to break the kiss she turned her head to the side, but he simply attacked her neck, the exact same spot as Loredo had.

Her breath caught in her throat and so she couldn't say anything about it. Only a meek, "Stop," left her, but his digits continued to travel down her body and his mouth didn't stop its ministrations. When his fingers brushed against her breast, she noticed that she was naked and she tried to throw him off. He shouldn't see her like this; _no one_ should. 

Iorveth only chuckled in her ear and purred, "You don't say no to your commander."

Fear filled every inch of her like the tears that filled her eyes. His hand ignored her breast in favour of her torso, moving across the scars that littered her skin here and there. It went lower still, until it arrived at their hips, where he pulled down his breeches and whispered, "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. You might even enjoy it."

Gwen screamed, and then someone was shaking her, and then she opened her eyes and found one of the elves who shared the tent with her; Madoc. His face hung above hers as he stared down at her in concern, and somewhere behind him sat Tesni, mirroring his expression. The two of them had been friends for a long time from what Gwen could see, practically joined at the hip. Everyone mused about what sort of things they did when they were alone, but the half-elf could vouch for their friendship being nothing more than that. 

When he saw she had woken up, he slinked back off to his own bedroll, shooting her looks every now and then but not daring to ask her any questions. Gwen soon grew sick of it and got up to leave the tent, her body still trembling from the nightmare. 

It had been just a nightmare, had it not? She looked down at her arm and saw that it had been bandaged. By whom? When? Where? She felt like crying, but bit on her lip instead.

She couldn't remember what she did between that moment and dawn. Perhaps she had simply sat in that spot, staring at nothing with a blank mind. When Ivor came to fetch her for her first time out hunting - another part of her dream which came true - her mood hadn't improved. She hadn't seen him in a while and was glad when he treated her a bit like he used to, though he at once saw something was wrong. When he asked and she refused to answer, he dropped it. For that, she was thankful.

Her feelings of thankfulness disappeared when she saw Iorveth, whose gaze and company she avoided as much as possible. Why had she even dreamt such a thing? Had it even been a dream in the first place? How could she forget something like that?

While he explained what they would do that day, she stared at him. As if he had felt her gaze on him, he turned to her and gave her a strange look before looking at the others once more. Gwen missed everything he said, too stuck with her thoughts to concentrate on his words. 

Why had he glanced at her like that? Had he actually...? But everything until now seemed to prove that what had happened in the dream had been real. Her arm, the hunting... Then that, too...?

He had not left any marks on her body, but then again, perhaps he had been... gentle with her. But it just wasn't possible for her to not remember it at all. Denying it was one thing, but having no recollection of it whatsoever?

"What is it?" Ivor asked again once they had set out. Gwen watched his expression for a bit, still feeling a bit miffed by his betrayal after all.

"It's nothing," she replied in the end, and turned her gaze in front of her. Her problem would have to come later. For now, she had to prove her worth to the Squirrels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vatt'ghern: Witcher (Elder Speech)  
> Neygharimm: dwarf/dwarves (Elder Speech)


	11. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist goes hunting and finds out why Ivor has been behaving so strangely.

Its yellow eyes peered up from where it sat, frozen between the wet blades of grass. Its hunter held its breath as it stared down from its spot between the leaves which already began to darken and shrivel as winter loomed ahead of all life. The prey's nose twitched a few times, and an eternity seemed to pass by before it finally turned again, its paws reaching up to scratch at its ears in confusion. 

The wind blew, and leaves that clung to their stems rustled, covering the sound of a bow creaking as it was bent. The creature did not notice it and hopped off, none the wiser as its enemy prepared its attack. Even before it could realise its fate, an arrow went right through its head, and it died at once, feeling no pain at all. How quick the candle of life could be snuffed out, if the hand knew what to do. 

Gwen climbed out of the tree and back to the ground to inspect her win. Not that she would ever tell the others, but she did not yet dare take on nekkers. And anyway, her task had been to show them that she could hunt in the first place. Iorveth had never specified what exactly she had to bring back. 

The rabbit went to her belt, where her collection hung. Two other rabbits and even a fox she had managed to take down. From her position up in the tree branches she had spot a few nekkers once, but had watched Ivor take them out from the other side. If anyone asked her about her meagre bounty, then she would simply say that he had been too fast for her. From the way he took out the pack of nekkers by himself with only his bow, Gwen knew that the elves would not doubt her. 

Half the day had come and gone by the time the half-elf decided to return to the place where Iorveth had told them to gather afterwards. He had taken most of the elves, the less experienced ones, with him while giving the older Squirrels free reign. And Gwen, of whom he probably expected more than a few rabbits and a fox. She almost felt nervous to disappoint him. 

As she made her way from tree to tree, relishing the feel of bark beneath her soles and moss between her toes, she froze at the sound of hooves moving against the ground. When she turned to look, as slowly as possible, she was surprised to see a deer shuffling between the trees, stopping here and there to graze on a patch of grass.

Deer were skittish creatures, and she had never had the patience to actually take one down. She hadn't even known that these animals roamed about the forest; she had always thought the nekkers and other monsters got to them even before they could walk properly. 

Trying to stay as quiet as she could, Gwen reached back for her bow and an arrow as she made her way across the branch in an attempt to get closer to the animal. It seemed to take ages before she came within range, but at least the deer hadn't noticed her presence. It continued to eat from a shrubbery, its tail swishing above to get rid of any flies that annoyed it. 

The half-elf almost felt bad as she lifted her bow and nocked an arrow. Before the guilt could hold her back, she let out the breath she had been holding and aimed at the creature, one eye closed and her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Once she had made sure her target wouldn't move all of a sudden and still hadn't heard her, she loosed the arrow and watched it impale the flesh of the deer.

It let out a wail and ran off, and Gwen cursed at herself. She had missed her mark by a hand's width, and it had punctured the edge of the animal's neck instead of its head. Almost, she decided to turn back, though she knew she wouldn't. Her rule had always been to minimise the suffering of any creature she had to kill, and she knew the deer wouldn't survive with an arrow sticking out of its neck. It would bleed to death; a slow and painful death. 

Gwen launched herself after the deer, arms bracing against tree trunks as she tried her best to catch up with the animal. In its panic it did not know where it was going, running back and forth. Its hunter easily caught up with it, and she prepared another arrow while on the move, but it buried itself in bark instead of meat and sent the creature running in the opposite direction.

Her leg began to ache, each step causing a throb that distracted her for a moment, but she did not relent. Nekkers climbed out of their nests at the noise, but by the time they reached the surface, half-elf and deer were long gone. 

Though the animal's crying attracted all sorts of monsters, it also helped Gwen follow the path it took. She reached for another arrow just as she spotted a clearing up ahead, the brown of the deer almost disappearing out of sight. Though her leg felt as though it were on fire, she gave it one final push and let go of the bow string in a last attempt to release the deer from its suffering. 

She arrived at the end of her tree and jumped into the air, arms flailing as she tried to control her landing. The sight of the deer corpse on the ground surprised her into stillness for a moment, but the ground awoke her rudely by smacking into her. A yell of pain ripped itself from her throat, but when she rolled over she found herself to be mostly unharmed. Somehow she had had the luck to fall right into a thorny bush, which broke her fall but at the cost of some of her skin. 

This arrow stuck out of its head, and as Gwen limped over to it, she asked herself how she had managed to do that. At least she had helped the poor creature, though she shouldn't have attacked it in the first place.

"Wouldn't have made it much longer anyway," she muttered to herself as she limped over to the corpse. Only now did she realise that she would have to drag it with her back to Iorveth, somehow.

Something rustled, and at once Gwen had her hand on her knife, ready to pull it and defend herself if need be. To her surprise, an elf stepped into the clearing, his movements mirroring hers as he took in the scene before him. He relaxed when he saw her and lowered his bow. 

"You do know that half the forest is wondering what happened, don't you?" Ivor asked, making his way over to her to inspect her catch. He raised his brows at what he saw. "A deer in this forest?"

Gwen shrugged in response and struggled to lift the animal by its hooves. Before she could get anywhere, however, Ivor had pushed her away and flung the creature over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing more than a bag of feathers. Then again, it hadn't been that big of a deer. 

The two of them made their way back to where Iorveth had told them to go, the half-elf keeping her bow ready just in case something might attack them. Ivor glanced at her before looking ahead again. 

"It seems that you've been busy," he said, and Gwen looked down at her catch hanging from her belt. When she shrugged in response, the elf added, "No nekkers?" She simply shook her head and he didn't push her. 

They continued in silence, the rustle of leaves and the singing of birds the only sounds they could hear. Gwen had no idea what she could say to him, not after their rather abrupt break since... that. 

"Ahh." Ivor sighed all of a sudden and patted the deer on his shoulder. "This sure does take me back." 

Gwen stared at him in surprise and couldn't help the words that slipped past her lips. "How so?" 

The elf returned her expression, as though he only just now realised he had said that out loud. He turned away from her, his brows dipping down into a frown, and he said nothing for a few moments. Then he opened his mouth and began, "The first time I caught a deer by myself."

That was all he said, and Gwen continued to stare, wondering what this had to do with anything. Because Ivor didn't seem like the type of person to say random things like that, she decided to ask on. "And when was that...?" 

"It must have been when I was twenty years old, give or take. Perhaps thirty." He turned his eyes skywards, for as far one could see the sky between the trees in the first place. "I can't even quite recall where it was, even though I had grown up in those woods. With my mother, for my father had died a few years earlier. Of a simple illness, if I recall correctly, because he had been too stubborn to stay still for a few days." He stopped talking again, and Gwen wasn't sure whether she should ask further or wait for him to go on, but in the end she didn't have to prompt him again. "After he died, she took to having some human keep her bed warm in his stead. Everything went well, until he started to become more demanding and she became... unwilling to please him as he wished." 

He moved his gaze back to her, so that she could see the slight shimmer in his eyes, his elven mask giving way to the emotions that hid behind it. Emotions he had buried away, perhaps thought to have forgotten, but which had returned with recent events. Gwen knew what he would say even before he had opened his mouth. 

"I found her on her own bed, the one she had always shared with my... with my father, and she was naked and bleeding. She was still breathing, though, but even then I knew her life had left her, and she... she died not much later." Ivor moved to the side to dodge a low-hanging branch blocking his path, his eyes elsewhere once more. "Her human somehow turned it into my doing... And they..." His cheeks became red and he turned his head to look to the other side, to hide his face from her.

The half-elf stood still, eyes wide as she watched the man continue to walk away, albeit at a slower pace as he left her to process his words and to take the time to regain his composure. That her... that Loredo's actions would call back memories of others, memories like that... Having to see his mother like that, and then he himself... And then she... And she had accused him of _betraying_ her!

_"To show you that we know what it's like as well. That everyone in this camp has their own story, and everyone has once gotten those looks from the others."_

She balled her hands into fists before jogging after the elf, ignoring the limp in her leg as best as she could. When she reached him again, she placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop and turn to look at her. He had put on that stupid mask again, and for some reason it made her angry.

"Why are you telling me this? I have done nothing to make you trust me. Any of you--none of you should trust me. And why tell me this _now_?" she all but yelled at him, though she knew she shouldn't. 

"I... do apologise for my behaviour. I almost feared that you would follow my mother, and for what might come after, however irrational that might have been," he replied as he shifted the animal on his shoulder.

"But why would you care?" She stopped walking again, and at the genuinely puzzled tone in her voice, Ivor paused as well and finally looked at her. Her eyes, large and full of confusion and anger and dwindling hate, met his empty ones, and he let out another sigh.

"Do you still not get it? You have given us enough reason to trust you. You went through that because you wanted to help one of our own. You could have done so much harm to our camp in the time you have been here, no matter the trust that Iorveth puts in you for whatever reason... But you haven't." He tilted his head to the side at the growing helplessness visible on Gwen's face. "All you have to do is accept it."

_"But how?"_ she wanted to ask, but she knew she would only receive more cryptic answers in return. Her arm throbbed at the thought, and for a moment she was torn between taking a knife to her arm and breaking down in tears. She did neither, of course, and tried to bring up her own stoic expression. 

Instead she asked, hesitant, "Did he... Iorveth... Did he do anything?"

"Did he do anything to whom?" Ivor responded with a frown. 

Gwen quickly shook her head. "Never mind." 

"Listen," Ivor said as he took a step back towards the half-elf, "Iorveth might be harsh and ruthless, and he might have hurt a lot of innocent humans. But you must believe me that he would never touch one of his own. He gave you a place in the unit himself, so he will never lay a finger on you." 

The half-elf thought back to his slap, her hand almost automatically searching her cheek, but she swallowed her witty response. She nodded and wanted very much to believe him. 

"Now come, the others will already be waiting for us," the elf said, and with that he walked off again, Gwen following him soon after. 

They passed the rest of the trip in quiet. When they arrived at the pile or rocks that Iorveth had assigned as the spot where they were to meet up again, the half-elf saw that the others had already gathered there. The group stopped talking and turned to stare at the newcomers. Gwen at once caught sight of Iorveth, but she looked away as soon as their gazes met. She wanted to believe. She had to believe. She could not hold out much longer if she thought her safety compromised.

The commander went up to her to inspect her catch. He also eyed the scratches adorning her skin, but decided not to address those. "A deer? In these woods?"

She nodded, and told herself to open her mouth and say something, but found that she couldn't. Instead she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. Stupid, stupid woman!

"No nekkers?" Iorveth went on, his words receiving a snicker from the elves behind him, though Gwen knew from his tone that he had meant it out of curiosity and not malice. She shook her head, her tongue deciding to remain inactive. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Ivor making faces at her, but she ignored him. 

Her unwillingness to reply seemed to make the commander uncomfortable. "I guess it cannot be helped then. At least you have proven yourself capable with a bow, that much is certain." He turned away from her and motioned to the other elves to move out. It would be getting dark soon, and they all wanted to be home by then. 

Home. 

If only Gwen could see it as such too, she thought as she stared at Iorveth's back and wondered what scars she might find there.


	12. Arbitration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist realises the truth behind her dream, but loses a potential friend in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arbitration belongs to Ashe O'Hara and Dennis Svensson.

Once the group had returned, Gwen at once took to the 'kitchen'. Somehow, she felt... connected to the people there. Even to Dylan, who continued to send her withering glares whenever he thought she couldn't see it. Cerys she hadn't seen in quite a while, but the half-elf cared not for that one, if she had to be honest. 

Gwen and Ivor arrived there only to find Brigid by herself. The woman looked up in surprise at the sight of the deer slung over the latter's shoulder as though it weighed nothing and the former limping after him.

"What _happened_?" she asked, getting up from her seat but then just standing there, uncertainty visible on her round face. 

The half-elf scratched her cheek and forced herself to respond. "I didn't kill it in one go, so I had to run after it. And my leg's still not healed, or so it would seem."

Brigid helped Ivor lower the animal to the ground before casting a helpless look in Gwen's direction. The other frowned at that, but said nothing as she found a piece of rope lying with the other kitchen equipment after handing the rabbits and fox to Brigid. She launched that over a branch that hung at the edge of the clearing, missing a few times but succeeding in the end.

"Uhm... what are you doing?" the girl asked as she watched Ivor help Gwen make a loop in the rope to hang around the deer's neck. 

"Skinning and cleaning will go easier if we hang it up," Ivor answered. He moved to grab the other end of the rope to hoist it into the air, but the half-elf pushed him out of the way and did it herself. He smiled and shook his head at the sight of her mouth, set in a grim line as she put her all into lifting the body from the ground. 

Once it hung from the branch and she had made sure that, despite it creaking in protest, it wouldn't give, Gwen looked around for some sort of counterweight for the rope. Brigid came forward and held out her hand, and the half-elf tilted her head in confusion. 

The girl's cheeks flushed and she waved her hand up and down. "I can hold it?" 

"I doubt you can hold a deer long enough for me to skin it," Gwen replied with a raised brow, which only caused Brigid's blush to deepen. 

Just in time to save the elf from more of her jeering, Ivor reappeared, though neither of the women knew when he had left them, with a strained look on his face and a counterweight in his hands. Gwen eyed it with derision and asked, "Couldn't you just as well find a pulley along with that?"

"It's either this, or nothing," he replied as he dropped the heavy object to the ground with a thud. They stared at it, Brigid and Ivor wide-eyed and Gwen exasperated, as it sank deeper into the earth, its weight forcing the soil to the side. 

While the elves continued to stare, Gwen bent down, pulling the rope along with her, and tied it around the ring on top of the weight. 

"Have to do everything myself here," she muttered under her breath as she pulled out her knife and began to cut the hide around the neck before moving it down to its stomach in one, swift stroke. 

Brigid decided to sit and watch in silence while Ivor reached out to help the half-elf keep the deer steady. 

"You have done this often, haven't you?" the girl asked, her chin resting on her knees as she hugged them to her chest. A grunt and a shrug was all she got as a response, but she smiled anyway.

Nobody said anything afterwards, all eyes on Gwen's knife as it separated skin from meat with strong yet deft strokes. One hand moved in flurries as she cut the membrane while the other pulled the hide back to keep it taught. The answer to Brigid's question should have been obvious to even the most inexperienced skinner, the way that she did not have to take her time in order to make sure she made no mistakes. 

Once the largest part of the skin had come off, the half-elf wiped at her forehead with her arm. With all the nonchalance she could muster in that moment, she said, "I've had to fend for myself out in the wilderness for far too many years. I do have to admit, this is my first time with a deer. But in the end skinning is just skinning, no matter the animal."

She regretted her words the moment they had left her mouth, by the way that her companions lowered their eyes. As if to avoid showing her the pity in their gazes, because _that_ made everything better. Hadn't they wanted to teach her that they all had their sad tales? Then why did they act as if her life had been so much worse? 

"Why did you join the Squirrels, Ivor?" she heard herself ask. 

Ivor looked up and met her angry look with a surprised one. He didn't seem to understand, but he indulged her anyway. His gaze went to Brigid before it found the half-elf again, and in a soft voice he said, "Not for revenge, that's for sure."

"Why then?" Gwen pushed on, not satisfied with his response. 

"Because..." he began, frowning. Frustration became visible on his face. "Because I had no where else to go, after... After that. Just like many other Scoia'tael. And I promised that I wanted to help create a world in which such things don't happen anymore. So that there won't be any more children out there who take to murdering because they don't know what else to do or where else to go."

So many who didn't seem to have a choice in the matter, either. Gwen skinned the deer's legs so that she didn't have look the others in the eyes, knowing that if she did they would see the pity in them. For the first time, she understood how they felt around her, and it made the whole situation even worse, though she had caused it herself.

She handed the hide to Brigid for safekeeping somewhere else before she began to work on cutting the meat from the body, handing piece by piece to Ivor who had given up holding the deer and instead collected the flesh. If the Squirrels had been impressed with her work in the kitchen before, they would only be able to gape at what she would prepare for them today. Her mother had never had any trouble taking down a deer, which she would then use to make dinner for the two of them for more than a week. With a whole group of Scoia'tael to feed, this dear would fill their bellies for one evening, if worked into a stew. Gwen did not want to think about the joy she felt at the prospect of sharing her mother's cooking with other people.

"You can start skinning those," she quickly told Brigid, gesturing at the dead animals that the girl had placed off to the side before continuing with the deer. Though she tried her best to keep her mind blank, she couldn't help but remember how her mother had always wanted to become a cook. Too bad the humans shunned elves. 

Brigid had finished skinning one of the rabbits when Gwen heard footsteps approach her from behind. Almost she expected to see Iorveth stand there when she turned around, though why she thought this she did not know. However, the lack of clinking armour tipped her off just before she came to stand face-to-face with a young elf whose pale hair looked so bright that the half-elf could only blink a few times. 

Having spent most of her life either in a human-infested city or by herself in the woods of Aedirn, Gwen had no talent for guessing the age of elves. The elf that stood before her, staring up at her with big blue eyes, looked more like a girl of perhaps fifteen or twenty years old, but could just as well be older than she herself was. 

"I... I came to... I was..." she began, the fingers of her left hand pulling on those of her right as she searched for words. "I wanted to thank you. For, you know..." 

Only then did Gwen realise that this was the elf she had wanted to save in Flotsam, the one who had gotten caught and the humans had wanted to hang. She had tried so hard to forget everything that had happened that day, that she had even forgotten the face of the girl who had caused her actions in the first place. 

She bit back her initial retort, feeling the eyes of Ivor and Brigid on her back all the while. The pity would fade and they would start to hate her again, or so Aderyn had told her. Unless she acted now to help change that. If she wanted to. Did she, though? She did not know.

"You're... you're welcome," she said anyway, and raised a brow when the blonde elf smiled at her with cheeks that almost seemed to glow. 

"I was worried that you'd hate me," the stranger continued, having found her tongue again. "That's why I didn't come any earlier. But now I'm glad that I've said it."

Gwen could feel her own face lighting up as well, and she sputtered a bit before turning away abruptly, lifting her knife to the deer again. She swore that her insides warmed up after hearing those words, but she feared what that might mean. 

The feeling faded soon after, together with the presence of the elf whose name she did not even know, who had skipped away not much later, giggling as she did so. The half-elf had tried to find the sound irritating, but she hadn't been able to concentrate even on that thought as she hacked away at the body.

And though it had faded, she had not forgotten. Sitting at the edge of the camp, between semi-civilisation and wilderness, during her watch - the first one given to her since joining - she could recall the warmth just by thinking back to that moment. It made her squirm, and she didn't know whether she despised it or enjoyed it, but it made for a nice contrast with the cold of the metal pressed against her wrist. 

The metal gleamed in the moonlight that shone down on it from between the leaves, and she swallowed hard, contemplating what she should do. Her left arm still sported the bandages that she, or someone else, had wrapped around it after that time with Iorveth. Goosebumps appeared on her skin at the thought of that dream, and whether it had been a dream at all. For some reason she believed that perhaps it had been just that after all. Was this what hope felt like? 

A sigh escaped her lips as she eyed her right arm again, still mostly free of recent scars and scabs. At least self-inflected ones. She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and without thinking she lifted the knife and did what had to be done.

~~~~

She ignored the stares and the whispers as she made her way through the camp. Much to her surprise, the anger at her existence had already started growing again, slowly but surely, but it surprised her even more that she had become indifferent to the glares. Hatred did not fill her like they used to, and she paid them no mind as she searched Iorveth.

Ciaran had come to her, his hair drenched from the rain that hadn't stopped falling since dawn. He had given her a look of surprise but had not commented on her appearance, instead only telling her that the commander wanted to speak to her. She had nodded and had watched him stalk off before getting up and leaving her post. 

The unit leader raised an invisible brow at her when she appeared before him, but he did not seem as perturbed as Ciaran had been. In fact, he beheld her with disappointment in his gaze as he said, "I see that you could not stop yourself."

Another part of her dream that had truly happened, then.

"I take it you do not like it?" Gwen retorted, raising her bare right arm to run it through her black locks. Locks of which the edges clung to her cheeks and the back of her neck, the shortness of them still startling the half-elf when she found she had run out of hair to run her fingers through. 

"I suppose it is better than defiling your skin," Iorveth admitted, though he obviously did not like it that much better. "Though I do hope you realise you now have nothing left to cut."

Gwen shrugged and looked off to the side, her hand moving by itself to touch the bandages on her left arm. "Let's say it signifies a new start. But never mind that. You wanted to speak to me?" 

"Yes," he replied, almost reluctantly, "I have decided to add you in with the regular training groups. But first of all, show me how your wounds fare."

Without waiting he reached forward, adamant on ignoring her stuttered protests. Before she could pull back, his glove touched the skin of her wrist and the half-elf couldn't stop the wince that escaped her throat, her mind automatically going back to the dream. For some reason she simply refused to believe that it hadn't taken place in reality. Just because she told herself that it hadn't happened whenever she thought of it did not mean she truly believed it yet. 

Surprise appeared on the commander's face, though soon it faded away. Instead, Iorveth narrowed his eye at her. "It still bothers you?" 

_Of course it still bothers me!_ Gwen wanted to scream at him, but she feared that he might realise that what had happened with Loredo wasn't the only thing gnawing at her. Perhaps she should have said that anyway, for she had no idea what else she could say, and instead stood as if frozen to the ground, silent. 

"There's more to it than that, is there not?" the elf spoke the dreaded words as he took a step closer, though he no longer touched her. "You have been acting awfully aloof around me lately. It has been strangely quiet without you yelling at me."

He wanted an answer, Gwen knew as much, and she feared what he might do if he didn't get it. He might... No! He wouldn't do any such thing! She had seen his contempt at Loredo's actions, had heard his anger. He couldn't possibly justify it if he were the one doing the damage. 

"I... I had a dream," she heard herself say, much to her horror. "I think."

"A _dream_? Are the inh'eid creatures that do not normally get these?" Iorveth all but spat at her, though the half-elf noticed the confusion in his voice all the same. 

She sucked in some air, reprimanding herself for opening her mouth in the first place. Now she had to get the rest over with, too, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get past repeating the word, "You..."

"I? I what? What could I possibly do in one of your dreams that you..." but even before he finished his sentence, his voice trailed off. His eye widened and he took a step back as though she had hit him, but it didn't take long before it narrowed again. "Do you think so lowly of me as to believe I would do such a vile thing?"

Though he kept his voice relatively low, Gwen could hear the venom that laced his words. For a moment she considered trying to calm the storm even before it truly began, but the thought disappeared just as fast and so instead she said, "Oh, it's good to know that, after murdering, pillaging and torturing, raping is where you pull the line."

"You think I do all that for _entertainment_? Because I _enjoy_ doing such things?" Iorveth growled.

Gwen lifted her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "You could always, you know, stop doing it if you hate it so?"

The look he shot her might have caused her to evaporate on the spot if she hadn't met it with a scowl of her own. Gwen couldn't help but wonder where all the friendly progress the two of them had managed to make had gone. 

"Excuse me, my lady, for not having the option to live with the king's mistress and to turn a blind eye on all the injustice done to others of my race. That _you_ decide to turn a blind eye to it all because you can simply fall back onto your filthy dh'oine blood is one thing, but the seidhe out here never had such a choice to begin with!" While speaking, Iorveth had once more closed the distance between the two of them so that he could all but yell into her face. 

In his anger, he gripped her shoulders with gloved hands and pushed her backwards. A tree blocked their path, however, and with a _thunk_ and a wince, Gwen's back hit the trunk, though Iorveth didn't seem to realise this. Her initial irritation faded, and the half-elf began to feel afraid at the anger in Iorveth's green eye, burning with a hatred that her own might once have mirrored. Now she could only feel sadness for what he had done in the past, and fright for what he might do in the future. The very near future, to be specific; that which concerned her. 

Other elves had started to gather around the couple by now, attracted by the noise of raised voices, one of them that of their leader. Somehow Gwen managed to notice that, unlike last time when Iorveth and she had found themselves in such a situation, their faces betrayed their concern instead of their anger. 

"Please let go of me," the half-elf murmured. When the man didn't budge, she raised her hands and grasped his wrists, trying to tug them free with force instead. 

In his blind hatred, however, Iorveth resisted her hold and dug his fingertips deeper into her shoulders, eliciting another wince from her. This time the sound seemed to bring him back to reality, and he blinked his eye once before it landed on the face of the woman before him. Their gazes met and he at once took a step back, holding his hands in the air. 

"I apologise. I should not have done that," he stated in a voice that sounded as if it were made of stone before he turned and stalked off. Though not without calling over his shoulder, "Talk to Ciaran about training."

Gwen and the other elves could only watch Iorveth's retreating back as he pushed his way out of the ring which had formed around the scene. It didn't take long before Brigid wormed her way through the crowd in the opposite direction, reaching the half-elf with red cheeks and panting as though she had just outrun an arachas on her way here. 

"W-what just happened?" she managed after a few gulps of breath. 

The other only shrugged as she stared at where their commander had disappeared.


	13. Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist is taught a lesson again. Let's hope she doesn't forget it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song goes to the Witcher 3 soundtrack, Steel for Humans. Banana tiger, banana taliban~
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Though she had at first feared joining the other elves in their training, Gwen found that she hadn't had to worry about anything after all. Despite the fact that the pity slowly began to fade away and many elves replaced it with the hatred from before, a lot of them had already accepted her into the unit. She still did not know whether she liked this or not, but for now she had to remain here, so she might as well try her best to get along with them. 

She started building her endurance and power up by sparring with the lowest of the group; mostly young elves who had only just joined the Scoia'tael and who looked up to her. They had yet to become infected by the hatred most elves held towards her half-breed kind, in contrast to the older elves who had gone into hiding for many years before finally searching Iorveth. Gwen had found that, the older the elf, the more they disliked her, which made it all the more queer that the oldest of them all - Ivor and Cedric, though she'd rather not think of him just yet - had accepted her almost at once. 

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stop thinking about all this. The elf pounding away at her with her wooden sword demanded all of her attention, or else she just might lose an eye during ploughing _sword practice_.

That reminded her of Iorveth, and her arms faltered for a moment. The blade she had held up with them flew to the side as her opponent smacked it out of her grasp. She hadn't heard nor seen the bloody elf since that... incident almost a week ago, and everyone she had asked about his presence either couldn't or wouldn't answer her inquiries. 

Without missing a beat, she dove right after her sword, wincing at the pain that shot up her leg as she landed back on her feet after the roll, weapon in hand. Frustration flared at the fact that the wound _still_ hadn't healed completely, and she used it to fuel her attack as she charged at her opponent. 

Woodchips went flying through the air as it now became her turn to try and break the defence of her target, the muscles in her arms straining to keep up with her wishes. The elf before her grunted as she had to do her best to parry Gwen's blows, but it didn't take much longer before a crack filled the air. Her wooden sword snapped in two and the top half flew through the air and past the heads of those watching as they ducked out of the way. 

Two sets of eyes turned to the side, but their instructor, Owain, made no move to stop the match. Brown met a deep green that reminded Gwen of Iorveth's eye, and her enemy took the moment's respite to her advantage, throwing her broken blade to the side and instead going for the half-elf's legs. 

Said half-elf let out a yelp as she fell to the ground, the force of the ground thudding against her back causing her to let go of her blade. Too tired to get up, she remained on the floor and was just about to start complaining about how she had never really fought with a sword like this before when suddenly something pricked against her neck. 

A gasp went through the audience. Some of the watchers hooted, and others booed. 

That _bitch_ had picked up her sword and now threatened her with it! 

To make matters worse, she tilted it upwards and used the tip to lift Gwen's headband from her head, revealing her not-pointy-enough ears to everyone who cared to look. Her badge of shame, the proof that she did not belong here. That she did not belong _anywhere_. 

"You've lost," her opponent stated in a voice strangely devoid of triumph. 

Anger began to rise inside of her as the elf whose name she hadn't even tried to remember casually flung the headband to the side before resuming her position, the blade back at the half-elf's neck. All her movements had been precise, not giving Gwen even the slightest chance to flee.

"No really?! Because here I thought I was lying on the ground because I felt like staring at the clouds," the half-elf snapped at her, only to wince when the blade dug deeper into her skin.

More noise from the audience filled the air, and Gwen wondered whose side they were on, but she soon decided that she did not care. She shot Owain a look, but the instructor still stood with his arms crossed and a blank look on his face. A grin spread across her face when she realised she had free reign. 

Clapping her hands together with the blade in between her palms, a hush went through the crowd, and all noise disappeared as every set of eyes stared at the display in wonder. The only set of eyes that mattered looked down at the half-elf in surprise, which soon turned to disdain. 

"You've lost," she repeated. She easily could have tugged the sword free from her opponent's grip, but apparently she had believed it unnecessary. 

Gwen used that to her advantage, wrapping her fingers around the wood and pulling it towards herself with all her might. The elf yelled in pain and shock and the hilt was ripped from her grasp, and without comprehending the situation, she kicked at the half-elf. Gwen pushed herself away just in time, however, rolling to the side before getting to her feet and once more pointing her blade at her enemy. 

"You _lost_!" the elf shouted once more. "Do you mean to be a sore loser?"

The other chanced one final look at Owain, though she could spot no changes in his demeanour. In fact, he seemed about the only one watching who was not completely enthralled by the show. 

"Oh, boo fucking hoo. If this were a real sword, I'd have cut my palms. Perhaps lost a few fingers depending on its sharpness. Either way, I'd still be capable of wielding the sword and defeating an unarmed person such as yourself," Gwen responded. She sucked in a deep breath before adding, "There was no possibility of winning to start with. You hated me even before we began, so there never was any fair play to begin with."

The elf scowled at her, spat on the ground, and left. Before she disappeared from the ring of elves surrounding them, she called out, "You say that as if it were one-sided."

Gwen watched her leave with a smug look, but did not respond. Now that the fight was over, most of the watchers dispersed, some talking energetically while others muttered under their breath. The half-elf couldn't have cared less in that moment, however; the elated feeling inside of her left little room over for anything else. 

The instructor, burly and bald and always clad in armour, made his way toward her, his hand outstretched. She handed the wooden sword back to him, hilt first, and awaited his judgement. 

"There was a lesson to be learned here, though I am not quite sure whether you managed to pick it up," he stated in that gruff voice of his. Gwen didn't doubt that it had to be an astounding experience to witness him use it to bellow orders across a battlefield. 

"Me neither, but I'm quite sure that _she_ learned it nevertheless," she replied with a grin, which earned her a pointed look from Owain. 

"Have you learned nothing in your time here?" he asked her, but before she could open her mouth, he held up a hand and went on, "No, I have no patience for your witty responses today."

She bit her lip and tried to stop herself, she really did, but she couldn't help it when she muttered, "That would mean you have the patience for them on other days though."

And suddenly she lay on her back again, her instructor staring down at her as she regained her bearings. It took her a few moments before she realised that the sudden pain burning in her leg - the _other_ leg - came from where he had hit with the blade, which he had used to swipe the limb from under her. 

"For tomorrow I expect you to be here an hour before the others, and an hour once they've left," he said as he watched realisation dawn on her face.

"But there _are_ no lessons tomorrow," she uttered weakly in protest, but she knew she had lost. 

"Exactly." Owain nodded his bald head once. "It would seem that you need the extra training, however. Nessa spelled the lesson out for you yet still you seem ignorant to it." He rubbed his chin and squinted his eyes in a thoughtful manner as he stared at the half-elf lying at his feet. "Does she not see it? Or does she not _want_ to see it?"

"Uhm... I'm still here?" 

She reached a hand out to him, and much to her surprise he accepted it. Instead of helping her up, however, he let her lie there for a few more moments. 

"There was no possibility of winning to start with. You hated her even before you began, so there never was any fair play to begin with," was all he said as he stared right at her with that unnerving gaze of his. 

At first, the half-elf remained silent before she murmured, "You say that as if it were one-sided."

For the first time since she had met him, she spied a smile on the instructor's face as he pulled her up and steadied her. She winced and bent down to inspect the bruise that had already begun to form on her shin, rubbing her hands over it a few times as if that would make it disappear.

"Apologies. I hope you realise why I thought it necessary to do so," he said once he had taken a step back from her to inspect the contusion himself. 

The half-elf nodded in return and dropped the pant leg of her breeches to cover it once more. 

"Good. Then I shall expect you here tomorrow at the designated time." Without waiting for her response, he turned and left. Gwen stared at his retreating back with mixed feelings, realising that she did that a lot lately.

~~~~

It was far too early to be up and most of the camp still slept, but the next day Gwen stood in that very spot as promised, and she waited for the elf to appear. She knew he couldn't be far away, for he had placed two wooden swords against a nearby tree trunk. He must have come and gone, though for what reason Gwen couldn't figure out. And he _never_ let these weapons out of sight; not even these cheap things for practice of which one could easily make a few dozen new ones.

With a frown she lowered herself to the ground, placing her elbow on her knee and resting her chin on her palm. Once she had left the clearing the day before, she had forced all related thoughts out of her head and had simply forgotten about the entire thing. She had gotten quite good at that, what with Loredo and what had happened with him. No, she had acquired that talent long before she had ever set foot in or near Flotsam. It had begun with Elric, and then with the child that had never gotten a name...

Now that she was here, however, she could no longer deny that she had a problem, and that she needed to deal with it somehow. Not just the... thing with Loredo, though that had caused more than its fair share of trouble to begin with. If she hadn't been... been _raped_ , then she wouldn't have gotten that dream - yes, _dream_ \- and she wouldn't have accused Iorveth in such a manner. She still hadn't managed to find him, though she couldn't exactly admit to having searched for him since yesterday in the first place. 

No, Owain had taught her a lesson she had needed to learn. Though she had realised early on that, perhaps, the manner in which she treated and thought of elves wasn't exactly fair, that hadn't changed anyway. She saw that now. While she had blamed them for the way they treated her, she had never stopped to think of how _she_ treated _them_ , even after she had realised the fault in the way she thought.

She let out a sigh and ran a hand through what remained of her hair. Hadn't she cut it to signify a new start? Had that only been for show, then? She had cut her skin because of the sudden lack of hatred directed towards her, and she had cut her hair because she had told herself she would to accept these new feelings some of the elves were willing to offer her. 

As Nessa and then she herself had said: one-sided. When had _she_ planned on changing herself? 

The half-elf clenched her hand into a fist, welcoming the stinging pain her nails caused her palm. Anger at herself, and also anger at the world around her made her feel the need to hurt herself again. How could one change oneself, when one had lived a certain way for more than a century? Perhaps that was the blessing of short-livedness; humans never lived long enough to become completely stuck in their ways. 

Yet Iorveth had taken her into his commando, even when most of his soldiers had disagreed with him. Chances were, he hadn't even wanted to do so in the first place. But because of some reason she did not know of, he had decided to change.

All this thinking began to make her head spin. With a yell of frustration, Gwen pushed herself from the leave-covered ground, picked up both of the swords and began to slash at a nearby tree. She pictured Iorveth in its stead, and Cedric and Ivor, and Aderyn and Brigid and Dylan. Most of all, she pictures herself and her hatred, and Elric, the one who had started it all, and her mother, her father, her half-brother, Demavend and Stennis... She grunted as she twisted and twirled, one blade flashing forward to carve away the trunk's bark, and then the other, over and over again, switching positions all the while.

Only when she had gone round the tree once did she stop, shoulders heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The battered swords she dropped to the ground so that she could rub the sweat from her eyes, but before she could so she burst into tears and pressed her damaged palms to her face in an attempt to stop them from falling. Her legs trembled beneath her, and she slid to her knees and fell forward, fingers digging into the soil as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She cried because she hated everyone and everything, and then she cried simply to cry, and _then_ she cried because she couldn't stop crying.

Why couldn't things just go better simply because she had decided so, like the writers often portrayed it in literature and bards sang about it in songs? Why did she have to work hard to become a better person? And why did she feel the need to become a better person in the first place? 

_So that there won't be any more children out there who take to murdering because they don't know what else to do or where else to go._

_Because everyone in this camp has their own story, and everyone has once gotten those looks from the others._

Another sigh left the half-elf once she had stopped bawling like a child. She placed a hand on the wounded tree as an apology for hurting it so in the first place after she got up, and she looked up to stare at the leaves that still clung to their branches. It wouldn't take much longer for winter to arrive, she realised all of a sudden, seeing the change in colours. She had always been in sync with nature since leaving Vengerberg, noting the subtle smell of autumn in the wind long before the leaves started to let go... Life had always gone on no matter what happened. When had she forgotten about that?

Once she had wiped her face relatively clean, she reached out for the lowest branch she could find and pulled herself off the ground, wincing when the bruise on her shin touched the bough. Since yesterday it had gotten dark and angry, and sometimes even placing her foot in the wrong way hurt. Now she used that foot to push herself up another limb, and another, until she had gotten as high as she dared to. And then she began to climb deeper into the camp, her mission clear.

~~~~

Funny how when she searched for him this time, with her mind made up like this, she found him in no time and without problem. To make the whole thing even better he had climbed up a tree himself as well, and played some song or other on a flute.

She swayed above him for a few moments, listening to the tune as she stared down at him. It seemed rather peculiar that someone like him - someone whose soul must have been an angry fire that consumed all that stood in its path - could play such a peaceful melody. As she listened, she could feel her resolve wavering, and her own fire dwindled until she almost didn't want to disturb him. With the sound of birds chirping and leaves blowing with the wind, she feared she just might fall asleep on the spot. 

But no, she couldn't do any of that. Before she had the chance to decide against it, she dropped herself down a few boughs until she landed on the one where Iorveth lay with his back against the trunk. The branch they now shared swayed under the additional weight, and Gwen stretched her arms out to the sides to prevent herself from losing her balance. 

The elf didn't stop playing his flute, though. In fact, he didn't even look up in surprise at her entrance. This dismayed the half-elf, but she dismissed it and instead made her way closer to him. Only when their feet almost touched did she stop, and only then did he lift the instrument from his lips to look up at her. If she hadn't reminded herself of why she had come here in the first place, she might have kicked him out of the tree for the expressionless look he shot at her. 

"I..." she began, only to find all the pretty speeches she had prepared in her mind had disappeared like snow before the sun.

"What is it?" Iorveth's voice sounded surprisingly soft as he tried to encourage the other to say what she wanted to say.

"I wanted to apologise. For... accusing you like that. I should have..." She hesitated. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

The commander's green eye beheld her for a while before he lowered his gaze to inspect his flute. "You apologise for being raped and letting that influence your behaviour?"

"Ye-- _no_!" Gwen exclaimed, appalled.

"Then I, too, apologise for hurting you," he replied nonchalantly, as though the two of them were talking about something mundane like dinner. 

The half-elf could only stare at him. He confused her so; one moment he seemed to want nothing more than to hang her simply for being alive, yet the other he acted as though the two of them had somehow become friends. Yet underneath it all she knew he did what he did for his people, and in that moment, all she could see was a selfless Scoia'tael commando leader, sharing the blow with her to make her feel better about everything. Because he knew she needed it. Because he knew what his soldiers needed.

And she had promised to change herself for the better as well. But why she did what she did next, however, she could not say.

Touched by this sudden realisation, and the remnants of his music still echoing inside her head, she knelt before him and moved forward. The elf watched in curiosity and surprise, his eye widening when she pressed her lips to his in a short kiss. Before he could react, however, she had already pulled back. With a grin spread across her face, she slipped down and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I am great at writing horrible love stories.


	14. Schatten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists are having fights with their inner demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! This chapter was giving me a bit of trouble, but I hope I'll be able to keep working on it this time. Also, as a sidenote, it was originally supposed to be autumn in the story, but after taking a look at the official Witcher timeline I realised that it should be almost spring instead. Apologies for any confusion.
> 
> The chapter title comes from the Tokyo Ghoul soundtrack, "Licht und Schatten" (German for "Light and Shadow").
> 
> Enjoy~

How could she? How _dare_ she?! 

Iorveth gritted his teeth as the memory of that incident came to mind once more. Just as unbidden was the feeling of her lips against his, the breath that had fanned out across his face when she had exhaled. And almost worse: that smile of hers before she had disappeared from his sight. He hadn’t seen nor heard from her since. 

If she hadn’t done so, however, the Scoia’tael commander didn’t know what he might have done to her. He couldn’t exactly expect the rest of his commando to accept the inh’eid, whether this one in particular or any others that might appear in the future, if he went and got the one in their unit killed, could he?

Or so he liked to think. He preferred to ignore the possibility that the situation might have gone in the entirely opposite direction, for Iorveth liked to think of that even less. The woman was a bloede inh’eid, after all. Many Aen Seidhe in the camp – whether male or female – looked better than she did. But then again, none of them had ever given him this much trouble before, much less just _kissed_ him because they had felt like it. 

“Iorveth?” 

He looked up to find Ciaran staring at him. They had been in the middle of discussing their plans for the future when, after mentioning Loredo, Iorveth had had to think of Gwen and that blasted kiss. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake! He had no time to be daydreaming about these things at a time like this. 

“While we continue preparing for our plan with the vatt’ghern, we must not forget Flotsam,” Iorveth began as though nothing had happened. “They will still be on guard after the previous… incident, so we will wait until the vatt’ghern has left before we launch another assault. The last thing we need is Loredo becoming suspicious and reporting it to anybody, though I doubt the dh’oine is smart enough for that in the first place.”

“When will we know anything more concrete about this plan with the vatt’ghern?” one of the elves surrounding him asked. 

Ciaran almost looked insulted at what could be interpreted as doubting their leader’s skills, but Iorveth raised a hand to calm him down before he could speak. “As of now, we need to wait until we can be sure of both Foltest’s position, and the vatt’ghern’s possibility to get close enough to kill him without getting caught.”

“You mean to let the vatt’ghern take this king’s life?!” Now even Ciaran looked surprised. 

Iorveth waited for the angry and astonished murmuring of the seidhe to die down before he opened his mouth. “What is this? Have we suddenly become nothing more than scavengers, searching for glory and gold? Do we not want to send a message to the dh’oine?!”

The others remained silent as they glanced at each other, uncertain. Iorveth always knew exactly what to say the sway the masses. At least when it came to Aen Seidhe. 

“Then it should not matter who deals the killing blow, as long as it happens.” When they still didn’t look convinced, he added, “And after all, the vatt’ghern is offering us his aid while asking us for ours. Without us, he will not be able to succeed to begin with. That should be enough, should it not?”

When Ciaran lowered his gaze, Iorveth knew he had won. “Things are currently brewing among the dh’oine, as per usual. It seems that the House of La Valette has finally had enough of its king and has declared the independence of their territory. Aryan La Valette has commanded their troops until now, but Foltest has managed to defeat them in every battle they have fought. The La Valettes have now crawled back to their castle, and it won’t take long before Foltest lays siege.”

“What does this have to do with us? Or the vatt’ghern?”

“For one, this makes things easier for us because we simply have to follow the river. Secondly, although Foltest denies it, his two bastard children are there. If we want to kill him without attracting too much attention, getting close to them will aid us in our mission. The dh’oine will want to make sure his children are safe after all is said and done, and if the vatt’ghern is nearby, the rest will be easy. We’ll simply have to get out of there before we are found.”

His comrades frowned at each other again. Iorveth knew what they felt, and he also knew that what he told them sounded logical. Though he did not like using his subordinates like this, he realised that under no other circumstances would this mission succeeded. They needed that vatt’ghern as much as he needed them. 

“When will we leave?” Ciaran finally asked, his expression defeated. 

“Soon. Not all of us will be going, and there are still some preparations that need finishing. Furthermore, we have to prepare to catch Flotsam off-guard when the designated group has departed,” Iorveth stated, disregarding the feelings of his lieutenant. “But all in due time, do not worry.”

With that, the meeting ended. The group of seidhe dwindled before evaporating completely, the sound of voices mingling disappearing together with their forms. Only Ciaran remained behind, his gaze still on Iorveth. The commander bit back a sigh as he waited for his adjutant to speak his mind.

“And what of the inh’eid?” Ciaran asked, averting his gaze as he did so. 

Iorveth lowered his brows. “What of her?”

“Well…” The man cleared his throat, and Iorveth’s eye narrowed when he saw the blush dusting the seidhe’s cheeks. “There have been rumours…”

“Rumours of _what_?” the commando leader snapped, at once reminded of his previous frustration.

Ciaran remained uncharacteristically silent, but Iorveth already knew what bothered him. It was obvious that, on the one hand, he did not want to think or talk about what his leader did in his bedroom, so to speak. But on the other hand, he felt insulted that it had to be with the inh’eid.

“These rumours are just that: rumours. They have but little that is actually based upon reality.” He wasn’t even lying, technically speaking. Whatever the rumours had become, no doubt that ‘she forced herself on him’ did not appear anywhere in these whispers.

Ciaran’s shoulders slumped at his words and he nodded. Before long he, too, left, leaving Iorveth alone with his thoughts. Perhaps not the wisest course of action in that moment.

Not only had she kissed him without his consent, but she had also done it where, apparently, others could see them. As the leader of this unit, he had a certain reputation to keep up. Copulating with inh’eids did not exactly belong on the list of things that helped him do so.

…was what he wanted to think, at least. He did not like to remember how she had approached him at such a pace that had allowed him the opportunity to get away if he had truly wished to do so. After all, she of all people knew what it felt like to be put in such a position. 

But why had he not done so then? Turned his head to the side, pushed her back, jumped out of the tree? He had allowed her to do what she did, and no matter how furious he became at her, that fact would never change.

Well, not that it mattered. He could not change the past, only look to the future, and he had a while to figure everything out before the mission started.

~~~~

With her lips pressed into a thin line, Gwen sharpened the umpteenth arrow of that day, putting all her might into her strokes. She had even started sweating as though she had been training in the sun all day, though she did not exactly dislike the sensation. Sometimes feeling exhausted only helped to clear one’s mind. 

Did she have to clear her mind, though? The past few days she had felt exceptionally calm. Though the usual inh’eid versus seidhe squabble had taken place every now and again, for the rest everything had remained rather peaceful. 

The knife stopped in its path, digging into the wood of the thin shaft as it waited for its next command. 

Dark eyes slid to the scars that covered pale skin. She no longer hid them beneath bandages, just as she had discarded her headband. Though some of the Scoia’tael had stared in the beginning, others glanced at it and shared knowing, albeit unwanted, looks with her. Even as she began to recognise the signs of self-mutilation in her… comrades, Brigid and Ivor both having their fair share of them, she refused to compare herself with them. 

Gwen wondered if she had started to forgive the elves. At least these elves. Somehow the thought of having been wrong almost all her life, of so many wasted hours filled with hatred, frustrated her even more. The fact that these conflicting thoughts concerning a certain commander continued to fill her head as well did not make the entire process any easier. 

Though she had kissed him, and he had kissed her back, she couldn’t help but feel angry… But at what? At whom? 

In a flare of ire, Gwen cleaved the arrow in two. Enraged by the fact that she had fucked up, she flung the two pieces of wood away from her with a yell. 

“H-hey, watch it!” a voice yelled all of a sudden.

Gwen’s head snapped up just in time to watch Ivor jump to the side, the sharpened half of the shaft embedding itself into a tree trunk behind the elf. She sighed, realising she truly had broken what otherwise might have been a perfectly good weapon. In the meantime, Ivor only stared at it with a sheepish expression. 

“So is there a point to your visit or are you just going to gape at the tree?” the half-elf snapped as she picked up the next twig and positioned her knife to start carving again. 

“You don’t use stone for your arrowheads?” Ivor asked, pulling the piece of wood sticking out of the bark before inspecting it. He pressed his finger against the tipped and watched a bead of blood well up. 

The woman shook her head. “I tried, but found them too… unwieldly. They’re too heavy for my taste.”

Ivor hummed before dropping the arrow in her pile of discarded wood. All the while, Gwen didn’t stop working on the next one as she waited for the elf to start speaking. 

He didn’t, however, and continued to watch her work. With a sigh she set her gear to the side and, crossing her arms, looked into his dark eyes. The blankness of their orbs no longer unsettled her as it had in the beginning, and at times she found herself able to read whatever emotions they allowed to seep through. Now wasn’t one of those times. 

“How are your wounds?” Ivor asked just as Gwen opened her mouth. 

“Huh?” came her intelligent reply, and she tilted her head to the side, her fingers unconsciously finding the wounds on her wrist. 

The movement did not go unnoticed by the man, but he let it slide. “Your back and your leg. Some elves will be leaving with the vatt’ghern in a while, and I wanted to make sure that you are in good condition.”

“Ah, but you said it yourself. Some _elves_ will be leaving. I don’t expect Iorveth to be sending someone like me on a mission like this.” Gwen hesitated for a split second, eyes inspecting the leaves covering the ground. “At least not yet.”

“We are also going to ambush Flotsam when the others leave, though. You might be allowed on that.”

Gwen squinted at him and lowered her brows. Was he doubting her? It was true that she hadn’t asked for his help with her bandages in a while, but for as far as she knew most of it had healed. As long as she didn’t push herself, she would be fine. She suddenly recognised the look on his face: scepticism. 

Her fingers tightened their grasp on her knife, and before she realised it, she had gotten up and closed the distance between the two of them with a two large steps. Ivor gasped and sputtered in surprise when she slammed the butt of her weapon into his stomach, pulling it back before he could hurt himself as he grasped for the source of pain. Instead she took a few steps to the side, circling him with an almost graceful flourish before poking him in the small of his back.

This time he anticipated it and whirled around, his hand catching hers before she could move. The downside to people like him, who wielded bows more easily than swords, was the fact that they could move so much quicker. 

“That wasn’t exactly fair,” he warned her when she tried to tug herself free from his grasp.

She shot him a grin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this yet, but I don’t exactly do fair.”

“I heard,” he retorted with a raised brow. “I have heard many a thing from Owain of your… ways.”

“Why do you keep tabs on me like this anyway?” Gwen asked. She tucked her knife away, moving with deliberate slowness to show him she wouldn’t hurt him again. 

The look she received for her question was a strange one. Ivor opened his mouth but closed it again and folded his arms across his chest instead. “Why do you _think_ I keep tabs on you like this?”

“Well…” the half-elf began as she found her seat again and rested her underarms along her knees. She stared up at him, confused, and continued, “Because Iorveth told you to do so?”

“And what if I told you I do because I care about you?” The corners of his lips twitched upwards when he saw her blanch.

She wanted to deny the possibility of the two of them caring for each other, for he was an elf and she an _inh’eid_. That they couldn’t possibly become friends. But then she thought back to elf she had helped to rescue and how she had thanked her. How she had felt when those words had left that girl’s lips. 

The world had always been black and white, and sometimes Gwen wished it had remained so. It was easier that way, too. But grey? She had no clue what to do with grey. 

Ivor scratched the back of his head, probably having realised her predicament simply by looking at her face. With a smile, he said, “Well, anyway. If you don’t have any complaints, then I believe you. I shall tell Iorveth that the next time he asks.”

For a split second he hesitated before departing. He looked as if he wanted to ask something else, but then he simply waved and disappeared, leaving behind a frustrated and even more perplexed half-elf.

Iorveth. The next time he asked? Did that mean he did so often? Probably just because he wanted to make sure she, as his subordinate, was doing all right. 

She dug her hands into her short hair and bit her lip at the thought of that man and the feelings it brought with it. She hated the elf, the way his eye could look so cold, the slight rasp in his voice that made him sound angry all the time. Yet she couldn’t deny that he intrigued her, with his curious policy towards her, a half-elf, and because of the fact that he had seen her at her worst yet wanted to help her because she was ‘his responsibility’. 

"I have failed you once already, and now I am to make sure you recover, whatever the cost. Understood?"

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of his voice, strangely soft as he spoke, saying those words. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath, imagining him as he had appeared in her nightmare. The fact that she had dreamt of him like that to begin with meant that he held some importance to her; after all, she never dreamed of random encounters or people that meant nothing to her. 

Tugging at strands of her hair and finding relief in the pain it caused, she realised that she wouldn’t get any answers if she stayed like this. In a few days or weeks, a team would leave with the vatt’ghern, and Iorveth would most likely go as well. That would give her enough time to sort out her feelings. 

Ivor’s words about raiding Flotsam bothered her as well. She didn’t know if she could go back there just yet, even though it would mean she could get the chance to kill some humans in revenge for what that pig had done to her. For a split second she lay on his bed again in that dim room, the smell of sweat heavy in the air. She could hear him mutter under his breath and the sound of the bed creaking beneath her. 

She wrapped her arms around her torso and tried to make herself as small as possible. Her throat tightened all of a sudden, and her lungs refused to function. No, she couldn’t go back. What if… what if they found her again? What if he… 

While her body trembled all over, Gwen abruptly got to her feet. She shook her head in an attempt to rid her mind of these thoughts before she stumbled over to the nearest tree. Tears began to blur her vision as she reached up with one hand, the other clutching her stomach as it churned. Before she could pull herself up, she fell to her knees and was forced to empty her stomach, coughing all the while. 

Sweat dripped into her eye and she squeezed it shut as she heaved and retched until nothing remained inside of her. Her nightmares never affected her like this during the night, but whenever she remembered during the day she was thrown off balance as though it had happened only a few days ago. 

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before pushing herself from the ground again, using the tree next to her to keep herself steady. As the world began to spin around her, she pulled herself up on a low-hanging branch before making her way higher into the tree. The shadows offered by the few leaves of the tree, ready for spring to arrive, helped calm her down long enough to find a comfortable spot, where she rolled herself up and tried to steady her breathing. 

For now, she would let herself drift along with the current of events. She could worry about things such as her feelings for the elves, and one in particular, when the time to do so came.


	15. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist almost confesses but is refused. In the meantime, the elves start to make their moves against the humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from the song Run by Daughter.

"Modron!" Gwen yelled just as she pulled herself out of the water in front of her house. "Hongian ar!"

The tell-tale silence filled the air, together with the crackling of fire as it consumed everything in its path. 

With her heart in her throat, the half-elf rushed to the front door, ignoring the flames that licked at her ankles. She pressed herself against the burning door, smashed her shoulder into it when it wouldn’t budge. Her mother groaned, her fingers clawing at the door as they always did. 

"Modron!" Gwen called out again, this time kicking at the door that kept her away from the person trapped inside. No matter how hard she tried, it was no use; the damned piece of wood would not move. 

Rubble fell down on top of her then, and she raised her arms in an attempt to shield herself from it even as she continued to yell for her mother. The other woman no longer reacted, her fingers sliding down the surface of the door one last time with agonising loudness as her body most likely fell to the floor. That feeling of her world shattering, the rug being pulled out from beneath her feet, of something inside of her break, filled her. Gwen let out a shuddering breath, ignoring the constricted feeling of her lungs filled with smoke, and closed her eyes. Waiting for the roof above her to cave in, ready to welcome it. 

The sound of the ceiling crumbling reached her ears and a blanket of dust fell down to cover her. Just then, however, arms wrapped around her, pulling her away and into something, someone, else. 

Even in the midst of the fire she could recognise that green eye, his lips much softer in her dream than they had been in real life as they descended upon hers, overshadowing her surroundings. Suddenly, the crackling of fires died down, and the streets of Vengerberg disappeared, making way for a dark forest. 

No longer half-choked by the grime in the air, Gwen sucked in a deep breath of air, which she needed desperately when she saw the glint in the elf’s eye as he continued to claim her lips with a fierce, almost painful kiss. As she relaxed beneath his touch, forgetting the nightmare from mere moments ago, from the corner of her eye she noticed a red string connecting her wrist to his. In the heat of the moment, as his tongue ran along her lower lip, her mind did not register what she saw. Instead, for the first time in almost a century, she felt something other than horror and fear in her dreams.

~~~~

That fated day came sooner than expected. But then again, Gwen had thrown herself into any and all tasks given to her with vigour. At the end of the day, after finishing what she had to do, she would crawl back into bed and fall asleep at once, too tired to stay awake and think. The next day the cycle would repeat.

Until this, with somebody shaking her by the shoulder and her almost hitting them in the face. Her eyes snapped open, only to be greeted by the same green that she had seen moments ago. Iorveth’s expression darkened ever so slightly as he caught her wrist before her fist could connect with his cheek. Realising that it must have looked like she had been suffering from a violent nightmare, Gwen’s cheeks flushed when she remembered that that hadn’t _only_ been the case. She tried to force her embarrassment to the side and wondered whether Aderyn had told him about how she had had to drag the half-elf out of her tree that day.

After getting sick and having hidden herself between the branches, she had remained there for almost an entire day before Aderyn had found her. The elf had joined her and forced her to drink a little water before coercing her out of her safe haven. Thankfully she had pretended that nothing was wrong, and had at once set her to work in the kitchen, sharing warning looks with the others who had watched in surprise. 

She had buried her head in the sand, but now it seemed that Iorveth was here to dig her out again. The fact that it to be him of all people, and that she had avoided thinking about him and the stupid kiss, did not help the situation. 

“We need to talk,” he stated simply. He crossed his arms and stared down at her, motioning towards the exit of the tent with his head. 

Nodding, her mind strangely blank all of a sudden, she pushed herself out of her bedroll and onto her feet. Before she followed him, she pulled on a pair of dark green breeches over the leggings she wore to bed and a brown leather vest over her tunic; the only armour they had had to spare for someone her size. Being a half-elf, she was of course also half-human, and therefore taller than many of the elves in the camp, something Gwen had only realised a short while ago. 

Once she stood outside, she looked up at Iorveth, one of the few elves larger than her, and watched him investigate her. Most likely to judge her wellbeing as one of his unit members, or perhaps he hoped to find a way to discuss what had happened. Gwen decided that, since she had started kissing him that day, she should start talking this time as well. “I—”

“The team to La Valette Castle will be leaving soon,” he said, his voice nonchalant though his gaze was pointed, a silent warning visible in his green eye. “I came to tell you that you’ll be staying here, and that there will be a meeting for details about the Flotsam ambush just before that.”

All the blood left her face, and Iorveth’s brows dipped down, though any other signs that he noticed remained invisible. Her stomach felt like it twisted itself inside of her, and she wondered whether it was because he had decided to act like _it_ had never happened, or because of the thought of Flotsam. 

Iorveth continued to watch her with a blank face. Somewhere in the distance, the half-elf vaguely registered the sound of birds chirping and whistling. Every now and again, a woodpecker would peck into a tree. Gwen swallowed hard, though her mouth was dry, and when she didn’t open her mouth, the unit leader turned to leave.

The half-elf’s brain tried to comprehend the situation, rushing to think of what she should do or say. If he pretended like nothing had happened, then so could she. He was giving her a choice, the chance to forget it, to go on. For now, Flotsam was pushed to the back of her mind, and her hand shot out, fingers wrapping themselves around Iorveth’s gloved wrist. 

“W-wait,” she whispered. Her voice croaked and she cleared her throat, tried to buy herself some time. 

The elf had stopped his retreat and looked over his shoulder at her, twisting his neck around until his good eye could look at her while his torso still faced away from her. He raised an invisible brow, that dangerous look still in his eye. She could still let it drop, but the memory of his lips against hers from her dream haunted her even more than the flames usually did, and she couldn’t think straight. 

“About what happened, that kiss…” Her heart pounded in her ears and she swallowed again, willing the words she had wanted to say tumble out of her mouth. 

His voice cut through her thoughts, cold and snide, and a chill ran through her body at not just the sound of it but also at what it said. “There is nothing to discuss. It was an accident, nothing more, and so we will act like nothing happened.”

Gwen felt like he had just slapped her, and she stared at him as if he had. Her mouth hung open and a strange buzzing noise overwhelmed her ears, deafened her until she could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing inside her head. When she noticed the derision in Iorveth’s eye, fierce even for human standards, her jaw snapped shut with such force that she tasted blood. 

“Did you honestly believe I might be interested in you as anything other than my subordinate, _Gwenfrewi_?” 

_”Gwenfrewi? That is such a beautiful name. Pray tell, what does it mean?”_

_“Frewi stands for and peace. My mother named me so because she believed I might unite our races.”_

_“Do you truly believe that is possible? I have no doubt that the two of us will get along quite well, but I fear that the rest of my race is not as forgiving as I am.”_

_“I… want to believe it is possible. Even if it is just to please my mother.”_

_“Ah. Well, it is an admirable goal. You are rather sweet, as naïve as you are. Though there is a fine line between being naïve and being gullible.”_

Her hand fell to her side as she watched him leave, his armour clinking as he moved away from her without another word. She didn’t realise her breathing had become ragged, her chest constricting painfully. As if some invisible hand were clenching her.

_”Give him to me.”_

_“N-no! What are you going to do?”_

_“Gwenfrewi, my dear, while your naivety was rather adorable in the beginning, it has become quite a nuisance. Now give him to me.”_

What had she been thinking? That _the_ legendary Iorveth, hater of humans, might take an interest to her? A damned inh’eid such as herself? Her breasts fought against the unseen boundaries surrounding her, her lungs cramping when the air refused to fill them.

_”Did you truly believe, for even a single moment, that I reciprocated these feelings you have for me? You have seen the worst that humanity has to offer your kind, yet still you trust me. That, my dear Gwenfrewi, is being gullible.”_

Her eyes were damp with tears, and she bit her lip even harder to keep them from spilling. She tightened her hands into fists, her knuckles turning white as she dug her nails into her palms, relishing the pain it brought to her. 

_Humans, elves. It doesn’t matter who it is. They are only out to hurt you, to hunt you like the wild beast that you are. No, not a wild beast. There is something majestic about a creature of nature. You are nothing but a pitiful dog. And you are all alone in this world._

The voice that penetrated her mind made her muscles tighten even more. It had been a while since she had last heard of it. After the constant insults that Elric had flung her way, strangely endearing at first until they began to feel like daggers digging into her skin, her mind had taken on his attitude even when he was no longer around. Over the years of isolation, the voice had slowly dwindled, taking over and becoming one with herself, but the sound of it, angry and bitter, reminded her of how she had been only a while ago. She had changed so much over such a short period of time, it seemed, but for some reason destiny wanted to make it as difficult for her as possible.

Right now, she felt as though she had just taken a leap of faith, but the distance between herself and the ground had not been what she had expected, and instead it had rushed up to greet her far too soon. Except she did not know why she had jumped in the first place. Sure, the attraction had been there, or so she had believed, but how could she had ever thought that these feelings were mutual? 

When the noise from the world outside finally began to seep through the barrier that had blocked her ears, her body relaxed as though some spell had been broken, her chest heaving as she sucked in a few deep breaths. The memories from what felt like some past life began to fade, and she spat out what little blood had gathered in her mouth before she turned and made her way to the edge of the camp, passing many tents on her way there. Wherever she went, stifling silence greeted her, and as the doubt began to nag at her mind, she wished that she would run into someone, _anyone_. Where had all the bloody elves that occupied the camp gone off to all of a sudden?! If she did not scream or yell at someone soon, she feared she might explode from all these conflicting emotions raging inside of her.

When she found a dark spot behind a row of bushes, she gazed at the scars on her arm while resting her back against the rough bark of a tree trunk. She knew she had promised him that she wouldn’t do it again, but in that moment, she couldn’t have cared less about him. Why did she immediately have to think of him to begin with? 

_You are nothing._

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, she pulled out her knife and trailed the cold material across her skin. Her brows creased and she sank to the ground, the bark scratching her back, though that only seemed to heighten her senses. When her bottom hit the ground, she closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing, listened to her heart beating rapidly as if in anticipation. 

_Without your mother you are even less._

She rolled up her right pant leg, pulling it over her knee and trailing her fingers along the angry lines that indicated where the trap had bit into her flesh, the skin still sensitive. In her other hand she held the knife steady, tried to figure out how she wanted to place the first cut. Just as she had decided to follow the pattern of the trap’s teeth, she heard footsteps approach before the surrounding bushes began to rustle. 

Like a deer in the face of a hunter’s lamp, she froze to the spot and watched as an elf appeared. 

“Iorveth told me to…” Ivor’s voice trailed off as he, too, stopped and stared at her sitting form, knife placed against her leg. A certain feeling of déjà vu washed over the half-elf as she sat there. “What are you doing?”

Ire rose inside of Gwen. What did he _think_ she was doing? Still, the anger disappeared as soon as it filled her, replaced by despair as she dug the knife into the soil beside her and scrambled to her feet. 

“D-don’t tell Iorveth!” she exclaimed, closing the distance between the two and grabbing his arm as if to emphasise her point. 

Ivor raised a brow, his gaze flickering to her trembling hand before it sought her eyes again. He remained silent for a few moments, but Gwen could almost see the cogs turning in his head. She continued to stare at him with wide eyes and nostrils flaring until he seemed to have come to a conclusion. Slowly he nodded his head. “But only if you promise that this won’t happen again.”

“I promise,” Gwen replied at once. Perhaps a bit too hasty. In an attempt to change the subject, she went on. “What did…” She bit her lip as the sound of Iorveth’s voice snapping at her filled her head again. “What did he want?”

Now his other brow joined the first in his hairline before he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

The half-elf clenched her hands into fists again, palms still sore from the last time, and she averted her eyes to the ground. She shuffled her bare feet through the grass, noting that there were barely any leaves covering the earth anymore. The branches creaked as they swayed in the wind, filling the stifling silence that hung in the air. 

Only when Ivor sighed did Gwen lift her gaze, examining his face for any signs of what he might be thinking. Not that she found any, though.

“Whatever it is that you said to him, or he to you, you must realise that, at the moment, a lot is resting on his shoulders. He has to help the vatt’ghern in order to further his cause, but at the same time he has to keep his followers happy, for without them he is nowhere,” he pointed out. “Then there is also the fact that there are certain rumours about the two of you…”

Her train of thoughts came to a halt with those words, and the blood drained from her face. “W-what do you mean? What rumours?”

“Rumours of the two of you getting close.” Ivor gave her a pointed look when the half-elf opened her mouth to protest. “It does not matter whether they are true or not. What matters is that Iorveth is both under constant scrutinisation and pressure from the other seidhe. It does not help that the man himself is so very complex due to the many hardships he has suffered in the past.”

Gwen furrowed her brows, her eyes flickering towards her feet again. Guilt filled her, and she realised that, though she had wondered about his scar, she had never considered the possibility of Iorveth having suffered just as much as any other elf had. Had never entertained the thought. Anger flared inside of her as well, and she scolded herself for being so selfish, wanting to push her feelings onto him without thinking of his own. Still, the seed of doubt remained behind even in the raging whirlwind of emotions within her. 

“How… how do you know this?” she asked, glancing at Ivor.

He watched her, his grey eyes roaming her face, probably letting the expressive nature of her feelings sink in. She had gotten used to the strange looks the elves shot her way whenever she didn’t force her expression into one of blankness, just as she had stopped being taken aback by their natural emptiness. 

After a few moments, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a smile. “Let us say that I have known the commander in a different way than most.”

“Y-you what?!” Gwen exclaimed, placing her aching hands on her hips. The thought of the two elves lying in bed together made the blood rush to her face. “What do—”

“I came here,” Ivor interrupted, “to tell you that I will be leaving for the La Valette castle, so I won’t be around for a few weeks.”

“Oh.” The half-elf noted the disappointment that settled in the pit of her stomach. Before she could realise the meaning behind it, she squinted at her comrade. “But you said Iorveth told you to come.”

“Yes, he wanted me to guide you to the meeting to discuss the Flotsam ambush. He seemed to believe you had reason to hide.” Ivor shot her another pointed look.

Perplexed, Gwen mulled over his words. That damned commander could read her like an open book it seemed. So while she had felt that split second of guilt for breaking her promise, he had already considered that she would do so in the first place and had already taken measures. She felt irritated at how he thought so little of her, despite the fact that he had been right do so in the first place. 

Ivor didn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts, instead reaching down and pulling her knife out of the soil. Without a word he handed it to her before he turned and left, much as Iorveth had done a while ago. How long had she been sitting there, staring at the remains of the wound of her leg, to begin with?

Her fingers grasped the hilt of the weapon, and she let out a breath before tucking it away again. Then she followed Ivor before any other elves came to find her.

She fell into step beside him and they made their way to the centre of the camp in silence. A darkness settled in the forest, and torches guided them as they once more passed abandoned tents while Gwen tried to keep her distance from every flame she spotted. When she looked up, she could see the gathering clouds behind the leaves. It was going to start raining soon. 

Before long, the silence fell away and was replaced by the murmuring of elves. The last time she had heard that sound, Iorveth had revealed the vatt’ghern to them. That day had also been the first in which she had fallen back on her self-mutilating habit, though _he_ had found her. And then that nightmare… She shook her head and ignored the strange look Ivor gave her as they entered the clearing where Iorveth held his meetings. 

“…ready to go,” Iorveth’s voice drifted through the air. “They will use boats to reach their destination, so they will be leaving for the river soon.”

Moss green suddenly cut her way and left her just as quickly. Everything inside of Gwen knotted itself, breathing became difficult. Her feet refused to cooperate all of a sudden and she stopped mid-step, but Ivor caught her wrist before she could flee. She dug the heels of her feet into the ground, but he dragged her with him anyway.

“In order to ensure their safe departure, the designated soldiers will attack Flotsam to make sure all eyes are where the La Valette unit is not.”

If Iorveth thought sending her off was what she needed or what she was capable of, then he did not know her as well as both of them thought he did. Gwen’s breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard in a feeble attempt to get rid of the lump in her throat. Where everything within her had already been twisted, the knots now tightened and she could taste bile at the back of her mouth. That humming from before assaulted her ears again, but she closed her eyes and concentrated on Ivor’s hand and Iorveth’s voice, using them to keep herself grounded. She could not run with her tail between her legs whenever she was reminded of the past. She most certainly could not show others this pathetic side of her. 

With steady breathing, the half-elf managed to regain her bearings, slowly but surely. The buzzing receded and her stomach relaxed, and when she opened her eyes she saw that nobody had been paying her any attention. She let out a sigh and tried to listen to the rest of what Iorveth had to say, but apparently she had missed it all.

Panic of a different kind threatened to fill her when Ivor released her arm and, with a wave and an encouraging smile, followed a group of six other elves, plus the vatt’ghern. Gwen stood in the middle of the commotion, looking to and fro for any other familiar faces.

“Oi,” a voice that she knew came from behind her, and a hand fell onto her shoulder. She froze again. “What are you doing, standing around like that? You’re coming with me.”

When she turned her head to the side, she saw Ciaran standing there. Her face easily fell into the scowl she always reserved just for him, and he returned it. “Why Iorveth wants you on this mission is beyond me, but he must have his reasons, so I will have to trust him.”

“Same here, I suppose,” Gwen muttered, and Ciaran’s brows rose. 

He didn’t respond as he released her shoulder. Only then did she notice the group of elves that stood behind him, waiting for him. Those elves, plus herself, he led to the training area of the camp. Her companions did not seem to recognise her presence other than a quick look in her direction every now and then. Gwen noted that even for elves, they all looked rather young. She easily could have been the oldest in the group, even with her limited inh’eid years.

With his arms crossed over his broad chest, Owain greeted them with a nod when they arrived at the training space. Ciaran returned the gesture and turned to his subordinates. He spread his arms, palms facing them.

“As some of you may have noticed, Iorveth has given me the command over you, the inexperienced soldiers.” Gwen almost scoffed; she was most likely just as experienced, if not more, than many of the regular Scoia’tael. Ciaran either did not notice or ignored the look on her face. “Because you are still officially in training, you have yet to receive any weapons fit for actual combat. Just for this mission, however, you will be granted access to a sword and bow. See it as an important lesson, if you will.”

Her heart quickened its pace when she realised this might be her chance to flee. She would have a certain amount of freedom in Flotsam, or at least enough opportunities to ‘lose’ her companions. While the town was in disarray from the ambush, she could find a boat, of which there were most likely plenty, and sail off.

But where would she go? She could not go back to Aedirn, and she would rather avoid Temeria after this. Plus, for that she would have to follow the river and the elves going towards the castle. Her only options would be Redania and Kaedwen…

Unbidden, Cedric’s works came to mind. _You must return to him. He has grown reckless since I last saw him, and you must make sure no harm befalls him until he has fulfilled his destiny._ Even though the man himself was making it rather difficult for her. 

Her shoulders slumped and she realised that she had admitted defeat. No matter how stupid it might seem, she could not deny her mother’s last wish. She had never even truly heard her mother’s last wish to begin with, and that thought she tried to quell with this compromise of sorts. 

Once again, she had missed the rest of her leader’s explanation, but everything became evident when Owain handed her a sheathed sword, his face empty of all expression. She accepted it and fastened it about her waist before taking a hold of the bow he held out for her. This time, when she relieved the man of his burden, his green eyes seemed to twinkle with both amusement and a warning. Gwen feared that he had managed to follow her entire thought process, though surely her face could not be _that_ expressive? 

“Bring them back to me in one piece,” he said, his piercing eyes watching her. Only when she nodded did he let go of the bow, which she then slung over her shoulder, together with a quiver of arrows. 

Without looking back, she followed Ciaran and the other elves away from the training ring, trying her very best not to think of the imminent future. She knew that she would come back a changed person, for better or worse.


	16. Obsolete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe O'Hara owns the song 'Obsolete'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist once more finds herself torn between the present and the past, except this time she isn't getting out unscathed.

Fire raged all about her. The wooden beams of the building creaked above her, threatening to come falling down. The stinging smell of something burning pricked at her nose, and off in the distance she could hear people screaming, swords clashing and bows thwanging. Humans and elves dying. 

For half a moment Gwen thought she was asleep, and that this was a new variant of her nightmare. Now not her mother but she herself had gotten stuck inside a house that stood alight.

Only when a loud crack filled the air, followed by a piece of burning wood that collapsed to the ground next to her, its hotness burning her feet even though it did not touch her, did she realise this was reality. Suddenly she remembered where she was. _That’s right. Flotsam._

The half-elf had tripped and had somehow managed to knock a torch from its sconce and into this building. She had gone after it, half in a daze, half numbed in fear that she had managed to fuck up majorly and wanted to rectify the situation, but the fire had been too fast. It had started small, but even that had been enough to petrify her. Now there was nothing she could do but take in a shallow breath and search for an exit, her arms shaking visibly as she held them up in front of her. As if they would stop the rubble from burying her. 

Fortunately, her feet had remembered the path she had taken and they led her towards the light even as the flames consumed everything around her. Squeezing her eyes shut while making her way to the barn door, she could not even find the energy to feel guilty. _They deserved it._

And then, a small voice at the back of her head, _There was nobody in there._

The fresh air outside hit her like wattle and daub, and Gwen gasped before sinking to the ground, crawling away from the fire behind her, her entire body trembling as she did so. People had gathered around to investigate the fire, gawking at the building. The humans glared at her, men with broad shoulders that approached her, whereas the elves shied away from her, afraid. 

At the end of the street she saw two guards appear from around the corner, most likely coming for the fire as well, and so she quickly pushed herself off the ground again. She ignored the townspeople surrounding her and pushed her way out of the gathered crowd. Straightening her back, she dusted her hands off her breeches and feigned confidence, just in case the figures ended up being enemies.

“Oi, who’s tha’?” one of the guards asked. He held a crossbow in his hands, ready to shoot if he saw anything that he didn’t like. If that happened to be one of his own kind, then so be it. 

“Looks like one o’ those bloody elves to me,” the other muttered, brandishing a sword. “This one’s a woman, though. Pretty stupid, if you ask me, letting one o’ the fairer sex all on their own.”

They spoke as though she could not hear them. Her hand sought the hilt of her sword, fingers tightening around it as she readied herself for battle. The only reason why no other elves accompanied her was because she had attempted to find a boat after all, that nagging voice at the back of her not letting her be. All the boats she had found, however, were far too large for herself to captain, and she did not feel the need to hold an entire crew hostage in order to sail it. 

Before either of the men could come any closer, Gwen let go of her sword and instead released her bow. At the same time, she took an arrow out of her quiver. The few people surrounding her and paying attention to the situation gasped and moved back, some of them screaming as they fled. 

The guards, on the other hand, froze. The one with the crossbow raised it in defence, but by then she had already nocked and released. The half-elf watched the arrow pierce his forehead, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he sunk to his knees.

The dead man’s comrade let out a yell of rage before charging, but before he could reach her, Gwen had loosed another arrow. Because of his movements she missed her mark, grazing his ear instead. The guard stumbled and cried out in pain as blood ran down his neck. The half-elf did not allow him to regain his balance, for by then she had pierced his chest with an arrow as well. He fell to the ground, writhing about in the mud, still alive. His anger was evident in his dark eyes as he watched her kneel by his side, but she put an end to that by running a knife along his throat. By then, the crowd by the fire had dispersed. 

In the silence that followed, Gwen took a moment to look at the two men she had just killed. Though she had murdered many people in her life, both elves and humans, the last time someone had died by her hand had been quite a while ago now. She had wondered whether, after so long, the feelings of guilt and remorse might return.

Surprisingly, she felt nothing at all. After all the hatred and despair from before, the respite that the Scoia’tael had offered her had made her so very tired of it all. She had feared that returning to Flotsam after what had happened would prove too much for her, but it seemed that she felt strangely exhausted. As though she had realised how destructive her feelings had been. And after all, she had the self-inflicted scars to prove it. 

She wiped her blade clean on a patch of grass before sheathing it again and checked whether she could take her arrows back, but she could only retrieve one of them. Without looking back, she left the burning barn and the bodies like that, and ventured deeper into town despite the fact that she just wanted to go home.

Spread about the slums, elves and humans fought. So engaged were they with one another that Gwen could sneak by without anybody noticing her. The guards were no match for the elves, however. For one, the Scoia’tael trained far more, and the emotions that drove them into the woods in the first place strengthened their blades and their bows, or so it seemed. Furthermore, the flurry of swords of a single elf wielding two blades was too much for a lone guard to keep up with. Watching them as she went by, Gwen realised that it almost looked as though the elves were dancing, waving their arms around in circles as they spun around their targets. And then it became obvious which humans had encountered Squirrels before and which hadn’t, though most of the time it ended much the same way: with yet another dead dh’oine. 

Even while she avoided the elves and humans battling, Gwen came across a large amount of corpses that littered the streets. Though many of them were elves, it took her but a few moments to realise that these did not belong to the Scoia’tael. The rags they wore indicated that they had lived in the very slums where they had died. Gwen knew that the guards of Flotsam had done this themselves; the elves would not murder their own kind, even if they had decided to live alongside the humans instead of joining the Squirrels. Even so, the villagers lay about, filling the air with the putrid smell of death. Rats had already begun to feast upon the bodies. The sight of it all almost made Gwen sick, and she used that feeling to awaken her desire to draw blood.

Gwen nocked an arrow as she crept towards the centre of Flotsam, where the noise of the tumult was loudest, taking down the first lone guardsman marching through the streets she laid eyes upon before he could blink. A far less painful death than he deserved, though Gwen did not have the time nor the energy to fulfil that wish. She had done so enough times in the past to know that it did not satisfy her enough to be worth all the trouble. 

As she came closer towards the gate separating the slums from the town centre, the amount of elves clashing with guards grew, until she could no longer pass without attracting any attention. The first human that raised his sword, however, fell before her without the half-elf having to raise a finger. When she looked up, her saviour had already moved on. 

All the while the noise of the fighting grew louder, coming mostly from behind the heavy doors that held her back from the town’s centre. She tried to open them, but they wouldn’t budge. The smell of blood hung in the air, almost suffocating Gwen. Her lungs, still squeezing from the fire, did not appreciate it. 

A drop of liquid fell on top of her head, and Gwen froze with her back pressed against the wood of the gate, startled. Even when she noted it was but water, her heart wouldn’t stop racing in her chest. It took her a few moments before she realised it had started to rain all of a sudden. 

She frowned up at the sky, squinting as raindrops assaulted her eyes before she quickly looked down again and wiped a hand across her face. Soon, the smell of blood mingled with that of wet earth and grass, making for a strangely nostalgic sensation. Before she could contemplate that thought any further, she saw another door leading through the wall a few paces farther down the path, towards the edge of the town. Having no idea where else to go, she unsheathed one of her borrowed swords after putting her bow back and walked over to it, finding that this one had been kicked down. 

It was almost as if she had stepped into a completely different world. More fires raged here, albeit smaller ones that dwindled when the rain began to pour down on them, and everywhere people were fighting. Elves clashed their swords with those of guards while others stood from a distance, aiming a bow or a crossbow at the crowd. Bodies littered the place, and civilians cowered in all possible corners. 

Gwen had no more time to take in the scenery, for somebody to her side yelled, and before she could comprehend the situation a human soldier was upon her, slashing at her with his blade. From the manner in which he swayed to and fro, the half-elf realised that this man was drunk. At least they had managed to take the town by surprise. 

Raising the sword in her hand, Gwen easily parried the blow and pushed the guard away from her before stepping after him. Whereas the other elves used a style more akin to a dance, Gwen had received minimal training from the royal guard in Vengerberg before continuing on her own. Thus she preferred a more practical approach, one that favoured speed and strength over elaborate strategies to get closer to the enemy. 

The guard tried to hit her again, but she sidestepped it before lunging at him. The man’s hand flew through the air, and he fell to his knees, screaming and cradling his arm to his chest. She left him like that and moved on to the next target, which happened to be a guard with a crossbow, just about to take down one of the elves who was too busy with her own target to notice him. 

In one swift movement, Gwen had grabbed his head, the smell of his sweat penetrating her nose as she slid her sword across his throat. A strange gurgling left his body before it sank to the ground, lifeless. The crossbow Gwen made unusable by cutting its bridle before she left it on the ground next to the dead soldier. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ciaran standing on the platform of the gallows, fighting off three humans by himself. Those gallows were where that young blonde elf would have lost her life. She did not recognise any other elves surrounding her, yet still she shared a strange sense of comradery with them, something she had not had in a long time, if ever. Every now and then their gazes would meet, not with hostility but simply acknowledging each other’s presence. Occasionally they would help each other. For a heartbeat, Gwen found herself enjoying the moment, but all too soon it came to an end.

Pain burst in her shoulder, and she realised that, while she had been concentrating on the others, she had left herself wide open. An axe now bit into her arm, cleaving through the leather that covered her torso and arms, without which she might have lost the limb. 

Gwen cried out and turned to face her attacker, gritting her teeth together. Yet another gruff man with a beard covering the lower half of his face stood beside her and glared at her. He pulled his axe back, jostling the half-elf once more, but she used the moment of reprise to swing her sword at him. Though he saw it coming and even tried to dodge it, the edge of her blade was faster and it grazed his face, slashing a diagonal cut into the flesh. The man yelled as blood covered his face, but still he refused to drop his weapon, and so Gwen swung the butt of hers into his stomach. He sputtered as he doubled over, his blood splashing onto the ground beneath him, mingling with her own that slid down her arm. 

Pressing her hand against her wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding and biting back a wince, Gwen fled. Suddenly she noticed that more elves had started retreating, and with her arm throbbing like this, she followed them back the way she had come from, through the smashed door that led them to the slums again. There, the smell of the fire she had started hung heavy in the air, and for a moment Gwen contemplated whether she preferred this to the smell of sweat and blood from before or not. 

Fortunately, she was not left with enough time to ponder this, for she realised that more elves had started fleeing. They streamed through the streets, the guards following as best as they could, attacking the elves closest to them without second thought. Apparently a few more elves had gotten wounded, and those mostly unscathed took it upon themselves to protect those unable to do so themselves.

The half-elf managed to take out a few more guardsmen, even with her arm hanging uselessly by her side. Just like that, she had saved the life of yet another elf who thanked her before running off. 

It seemed that the fire still wasn’t done raging on, though at least no other buildings had started burning as well, since the barn stood on its own. Villagers had lined up, passing buckets of water between the person who dumped the water onto the flames and the person refilling the buckets with water. The guards, who were supposed to protect these people, only got in their way by trying to rush after the elves, bumping them to the side. Gwen could only watch them fall as she rushed by. 

Suddenly, a new sound filled the air, one that differed from the screaming and the fighting that could already be heard. She recognised the shrill crying of a baby, and she came to an abrupt halt, the blood in her veins freezing. In the blink of an eye she was back in Vengerberg, almost a hundred years ago. Her legs shook beneath her, threatening to give out any moment now, whether due to the strain of childbirth or due to her shock. A new-born child – _her_ new-born child – was crying, screaming even. 

Pain all but exploded in her back and abdomen. When Gwen lifted a hand to hold it against the hurting spot, she felt liquid seep through her fingers, and the reality of her childlessness washed over her. 

“No, no, no, no…” She whimpered as she sank to her knees. She fell forward, nails digging into the mud. Tears welled up in her eyes and she willed her body to get up, to run after her child, to save him, but she felt weak and drained and she ached from… from what, exactly?

Instead, it took her all her might just to stay awake. A sob tore itself from her throat and she cursed herself for already having failed as a mother. Her crying only worsened the aching of her body, but in that moment she believed she had deserved it. 

“What are you doing?!” a voice hissed in her ear, and suddenly she was in Flotsam again, in the midst of the skirmishes, the running people, the crying townsfolk. The head of an arrow stuck out of her stomach, and Gwen could only stare at it for a few moments before realisation dawned on her. 

Blinking the tears away, Gwen looked up only to be greeted with Ciaran’s scowl. His eyebrows rose at the sight of her face, though he hid his emotions well as he helped her off the ground, almost dragging her up by her torn sleeve. Too late did he notice the wound there, but then again, she had not made a noise as he hauled her up, too dazed and detached from her body to feel anything in that moment. 

For whatever reason, Ciaran didn’t release his hold on her arm as they followed the stream of Scoia’tael out of Flotsam. With his other hand he held his sword, slashing here and there to fell a guard still chasing them. Somewhere at the back of her mind, Gwen asked herself why he didn’t just let her go. The two of them held no love for each other, and her body, sluggish and refusing to cooperate, only slowed them down, the gap between them and the others growing with every passing moment. If he had left her back there, he would have already been outside, safe and sound. 

A few times she dug the heels of her feet into the sand and tried to pull herself free, but he would only grunt and tighten his grip. The sound of the fire raging, of the guards yelling, of the town screaming faded behind her, yet that of the baby crying echoed in her mind. She felt her heart beating in her throat as it tightened, though the sadness she had expected did not come. It never came. 

Not when Ciaran dumped her amidst the regrouped elves, some wounded and others simply ragged, but all of them tired. Not when Iorveth dropped himself to the ground, her blunder from before all but forgotten. Not even when she remembered how he had spat out her full name only hours ago, or when, after closing her eyes, she once more thought back to the day that had changed her forever. 

_“Give him to me.”_

_“N-no! What are you going to do?!”_

_“Gwenfrewi, my dear, while your naivety was rather adorable in the beginning, it has become quite a nuisance. Now give him to me.”_

_“He’s my_ son _!”_

_“As he is mine. And I believe that, at this moment, you are unfit to fulfil your duties as a mother. Therefore, I will take care of him.”_

_“How… how can you do this to me?”_

_“Did you truly believe, for even a single moment, that I reciprocated these feelings you have for me? You have seen the worst that humanity has to offer your kind, yet still you trust me. That, my dear Gwenfrewi, is being gullible.”_

Instead of the anger and despair that usually accompanied all of her memories, Gwen felt nothing. Empty and tired, she let herself go, and all went black.


	17. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist is pulled out of her slur, gets into a fight with our love interest, and deepens her friendship with her master-at-arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, guys! Had trouble with getting this bugger finished. I hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> Numb belongs to Evergrey.

The needle stung against the half-elf’s neck, pricking into her skin, drawing blood. She could almost feel the droplets well up before being dabbed away by the elf who sat beside her, her dark eyes concentrating on Gwen’s throat. She welcomed the pain. It felt good to feel something – _anything_. 

She did not remember how many days had gone by since the ambush. With her arm and torso wounded, Iorveth had banned her from doing anything other than kitchen duty once more, and so she whiled away chopping up food and cooking it. 

And though she had not the energy left to do anything other than stare with unseeing eyes, memories from what seemed a lifetime ago returned to her, unbidden. She remembered times where she laughed, and times where she cried. She remembered the smell of her mother as she embraced her, and the smell of Elric as he wrapped his arms around her. She remembered the feeling of a child inside of her, moving around. 

She winced, and the elf – Eira was her name, which fit her almost snow white hair – mumbled an apology as she wiped at her jaw. Gwen only hummed in response, without even registering what had happened. 

With her usual caretaker gone, Aderyn had taken on Ivor’s task of taking care of her, since Gwen usually allowed nobody else to touch her. She hadn’t even resisted the elf when she wanted to check her wounds, and had simply ignored the other’s attempts to get her talking. The woman had stopped asking before long, and now only companionable silence filled the air whenever they were together. Brigid at least tried to fill it with nonsensical talk, seemingly not affected by the unresponsiveness of her friend. Her voice distracted Gwen from those in her mind, calling her by her full name. For some reason, whenever Elric spoke to her, she heard Iorveth’s voice, spitting out her name as though it were some kind of curse.

Which it was, in some way. Burdened by her mother’s wish for peace, Gwen had had to discard it when she fled from Vengerberg. No, it had been before that already. After Elric’s final betrayal, she had allowed only her mother to call her by that name. But even that stopped when the guards had come to search for her and had instead found her mother alone at home.

Gwen was so stuck in her thoughts that she hadn’t even realised that Eira had stopped working. The elf had to clear her throat before she blinked a few times, as if she had just woken up from a slumber, and looked up.

“It’s done,” Eira stated and motioned towards the bucket of water that stood beside them on the ground. 

She turned her head ever so slightly, biting her lip when it stung to do so, and saw the ink as it crawled down her shoulder, onto her arm and the top of her breast. Her neck felt stiff as she bent over and watched her reflection staring back at her from inside the bucket. Before she could acknowledge the dark rings beneath her eyes, she moved her gaze towards the reflection’s neck. Though it was difficult to see with the water rippling occasionally, the sight of the vines and leaves that crept up her neck and clawed at her jaw greeted her inside the bucket. 

When the elf had asked her if she had any design in particular in mind, she had shaken her head and given Eira free rein. She had no idea why she had chosen to do something like this, but somehow she felt that it fit herself. It was almost unsettling to see her face with its human tinges accompanied by the elven vines spread across her lower cheek. Almost as if to accentuate the fact that she did not truly belong.

With that thought running through her mind, Gwen found something bubbling up inside of her, almost clawing its way up even as the shroud of emptiness fought against it, tried to push it back down. It didn’t succeed, and whatever it was broke free. Relief filled her, together with a hint of sadness, for she felt that she _did_ belong, that she had found her place here. She had just come back from fighting a battle – not just _for_ the Scoia’tael but also _with_ them. With her _comrades_. 

Only when Eira placed a hand on her shoulder and asked her if she was all right did Gwen realise that she had started crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks, stinging the wounds caused by the inserting of the ink. She cursed herself for her weakness, especially in front of what was practically a stranger, but even when she pressed a hand against her eyes the tears refused to stop. The emotions that raged within her swallowed her up, consumed her, and it almost seemed as though time stood still as her body tried to compensate for all the time it had lost while being stuck in a void. 

Only when Aderyn stood beside her with her hands on her hips and her brows in her hairline did Gwen calm down little – and only long enough to say one sentence, her voice rough from disuse. 

“I’ve fallen in love with Iorveth.”

“What? When? _How_?” the other asked as she knelt down in front of the half-elf, her eyes wide. She was one of the few elves Gwen had met who did not guard her emotions like a dragon might its treasure.

Gwen shrugged, turned her head away and wiped at her cheeks, wincing when she touched her raw skin. When she drew her hand back, she saw a little blood coated her fingers. Gently taking her hand in her own, Aderyn wiped it away with a piece of cloth before she produced a bag of ointments and bandages from her belt. 

“For on the ink,” she offered before she dipped her fingers into the salve and spread it across the sore skin, which twitched beneath her touch. Without taking her eyes off Gwen’s shoulder, she added, “Well?” 

“Because…” Gwen winced when Aderyn moved higher, to her neck, and repeated her movements there. Why, exactly? When? Images of the elf flitted through her mind; of the way he had pulled his scarf down, of his nose almost touching hers, of his fingers digging into her skin as he held her arm and he cleaned it. Of his voice, so harsh yet warm at the same time. Of his eye piercing her like a sword, seeing and knowing all, or so it seemed. Of his lips against hers. “Because he cared. Or at least, he pretended to. For all I know that was all a lie.”

Shaking her head, Aderyn hummed in a disagreeing manner, her eyes now on her neck. The wind picked up from between the trees, played with the strands of the women’s hair. The elf wiped her free hand across her forehead to remove the locks from her eyes. “Iorveth truly cares for us all. We’re his subordinates, after all. His responsibility. And in return, we lend him our power.” 

Gwen closed a hand and cracked her joints while staring at it. Dirt was stuck beneath her nails, with some remainders of blood. How old it was, she could not say. A shiver ran down her spine, and not because of the cold breeze surrounding her. 

“I tried to tell him. Don’t really remember why. Not that it mattered, though, since he wouldn’t even let me finish what I wanted to say,” she murmured. She felt strangely calm saying it out loud. Like she was talking about someone else’s life, or about a memory from many years ago. The sound of her child crying seemed fresher in her mind than the rejection. 

Suddenly two arms wrapped themselves around her arm, pulling her unmarked shoulder into Aderyn’s body as she placed her forehead against the half-elf’s limb. Gwen, in turn, rested her chin on the other’s head and let out a sigh. Feeling melancholic all of a sudden, she wondered how long it had been since she had been embraced by someone like this. 

“You poor thing,” the elf whispered before she pulled back and looked into Gwen’s brown eyes. “So that’s what’s been bothering you?” 

Said brown eyes stared back at her, but Gwen remained silent. How could she possibly explain all that went through her mind, and all that _hadn’t_ gone through her mind these past few days? The fact that she had felt like a living corpse, and that at times she had thought about ending it all? About how the fires and screams and grunts and her name kept her up at night, and how she spent her waking hours reliving unwanted memories supposedly long-forgotten?

But Aderyn did not press on. Instead, she pulled back and began to bandage Gwen’s shoulder – now both of them were bound – and neck. She even went so far as to cover her lower face in linen as well, which, in that moment, managed to amuse the other slightly. She made quite the sight, she realised when she peered back into the bucket of water. 

“Come, let us head back. Who knows what will happen with Dylan working on his own,” Aderyn stated as she got up and made her way towards the kitchen.

Gwen dressed herself again before she followed, albeit slower, for the wound on her torso still stung whenever she used her abdominal muscles, which was basically always. Though the gash on her shoulder was worse – if it weren’t for her armour, the blade would have reached the bone – she could easily keep her arm still. The only reason she had gotten a tattoo was because she had insisted, believing it best to get it all over with at the same time before she had to remain inactive for months on end. 

In the camp, elves were scattered about, as if confused. Some of the Scoia’tael were worse off than her, a few even lying on makeshift beds while others tended to them. Most sported nothing more than cuts and bruises, however. Only a handful of elves had died during the ambush. Gwen had not personally known any of them, though somehow she could imagine Iorveth knowing every single name of the people who had gotten killed for him. 

As expected, when they reached the kitchen, Dylan was the only one there. He was chopping vegetables in that harsh manner of his, the loud, monotonous sound of a blade hitting wood at an irregular and painfully slow pace filling the air, disturbing the birds that otherwise would have sung their songs. For once, he kept his scowl directed at the carrots, too focused to warrant the half-elf her usual glare. 

“What happened to _you_?” he asked when he finally looked up, almost sounding incredulous. Or simply acting the part. Either way, it was clear that he did not expect an answer from the half-elf, since she had not spoken a word to him since the ambush. To anybody, really. 

“Eira inked me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the bandages. She tried to smile, though no one could see it, and even then she knew it must have been a rather watery one. “I am now, officially, one of you.”

Dylan muttered something under his breath as he turned back to his job. For half a moment, Gwen wondered whether she had spied the elf’s lips quirking upwards or not, but by then his mouth was a thin line as he concentrated on the carrots again. And who was she to tell him to loosen up his joints, to not lock his wrists so as he repeatedly lowered his knife? 

“Ah, I see the inh’eid is done with wallowing in her self-pity, is she now?” came the sound of a certain leader’s voice, combined with the notorious clinking of armour. Before long, Iorveth stood behind Gwen, straightening his back and almost towering above her. 

The half-elf turned around, scowling. “What are you being such an insufferable bastard for?”

“Says the inh’eid who has been nothing but a burden since returning from Flotsam.”

“Says the elf who didn’t even set _foot_ in Flotsam.” 

Iorveth took a step towards her, closing the distance between the two of them. Their chests almost touched, and he all but shoved his face into hers, returning her glare. All she had felt for him – attraction, affection, longing – merged with her irritation and the pain coursing through her body in that moment and instead became a ball of rage pulsing inside of her. 

“Because _someone_ had to ensure the entire situation did not get out of hand. Such has always been the way of things, and as such it will remain for as long as I am leader,” he snapped. 

“And _I_ say someone was too pansy to join the heat of the battle!” Gwen yelled before freezing to the spot, and not just because a stab of pain went through her torso. 

Glowering at her with such ferocity, the half-elf almost feared his gaze might burn her to a cinder. Instead, without even moving his scarred lips, he hissed, “Be gone from my sight.”

She dared to glance behind her, where she saw Dylan and Aderyn looking very pointedly at each other, shaking their heads. Fine, be that way. She let out a huff and, ignoring the wince that tried to escape her throat, left the clearing. To where, however? There was nothing that she could do in her current state. Her body still felt slightly sluggish, as if awoken from a slumber, which it had in a sense. Anger consumed her, burning brighter with every step she took away from that bastard. What a typical elf he was! No understanding for others whatsoever! 

Other elves looked up to watch her stomp, covered up in bandages though with her scowl still very much visible. She had clenched her hands into fists and bit through the agony that moving brought her, but she had already become fixated on something else. 

When she reached the training clearing, as she had dubbed it, Owain looked up from his sword practice with a raised brow. Suddenly she noticed its bushiness, as if to make up for the lack of his hair on top of his head – which must have been a personal choice, being an elf and all – and she concentrated on that as she made her way towards him. Almost limping by now, she bent down by the tree against which the rack of practice swords rested, and lifted one. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” the instructor asked, his voice not betraying any emotions. 

Gwen ignored him, biting back a wince as she spread her feet and positioned herself for battle. Every ounce of her body screamed at her, wanting her to lie on the ground and rest. Her mind, however, refused to calm down, thoughts racing through her head that she knew would spin out of control if she didn’t distract herself _now_. 

Dropping his sword to the ground, Owain crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head backwards, so that he was looking down at her despite the fact that she was slightly taller than him. There was no hiding the scorn in his eyes – green like a lush, dense forest. The look he gave her, combined with the colour which always reminded her of a certain commander, set her off, and with a snarl she jumped at him, weapon held high. 

As she had expected, he stepped to the right, and the blade hit him on the shoulder. In the blink of an eye, his face was once more blank, the mask of the master-of-arms covering what he might have been feeling. Gwen couldn’t detect a hint of pain as he danced away from her. 

Normally she would have gone after him, hacking and slashing all the while, but that single move had almost been enough for her knees to buckle beneath her. Standing still, ignoring the trembling of her arms and trying to keep her weapon steady, she found a strange sense of calm washing over her as she watched Owain retreat and retrieve a new wooden blade. 

A slight limp that she otherwise might have missed indicated that he, too, hadn’t come out of the ambush completely unscathed. Left leg? No, the right. He also grasped the sword with his left hand instead of his right. Gwen narrowed her eyes but remained silent. 

He came at her, fast and sudden, and she only had enough time to stumble backwards. When her back bumped against a tree trunk, preventing her from falling, she winced. Just how much could she push herself before she began to do more harm than good to herself? 

She moved to the left just as he brought his sword down, which bounced off the bark with a loud clack. Probably due to his wounded hand, his swings were less refined and somewhat choppy. As she dove to the ground, tears blurring her vision, she reached out with her sword. The wood glanced off his bad leg, and with a grunt his knee hit the ground, his free hand shooting out to grasp his thigh. Blood soon seeped through the fabric of his breeches, and Gwen, who now stood a safe distance behind him, dropped her arms.

“Sorry, I should—”

“ _No_ ,” he said in a curt voice. He slammed a fist against the red spot a few times before he pushed himself off the ground, holding his sword in front of him once more. “We continue.”

It seemed strange to see the man like this. Usually he was the epitome of calm, practically oozing calculated thought at every turn. Witnessing him with red cheeks and breathing heavily, pain written all over his face, went against anything Gwen had thought to know of him. Though it also told her that he needed this as much as she did. They did not want to think, or to feel. They just wanted to move and to forget, if just for a moment. Easier said than done, however, when her wounds throbbed in time with the heightened pace of her heartbeat. His too, most likely. 

And so Gwen raised her weapon again, and matched each and every of Owain’s blows. A few times she jabbed at him as well, only for him to parry. With the current states of their bodies, however, it didn’t take long before the two of them were panting like hounds during a hunt, faces flushed and bodies drenched in sweat. 

Blood soaked through her tunic as it did his breeches, and for a moment Gwen feared she might have ruined her ink. When she tore the bandages away from her mouth in order to breathe more easily, Owain told her that the lines looked red and angry, but that was normal for new marks. They stung like raging infernos with the sweat that ran down them.

A while later found the two of them resting their backs against the same trunk, their chests still heaving as they shared a large skin of water. 

“What happened to your hand?” Gwen asked, handing the skin to her companion. 

The elf only grunted and lifted the water to his lips, tilting his head backwards as he did so. After he had wiped his mouth with the back of his good hand, he stated, “Hit a bastard trying to have his way with some woman. Think it was an elf, too.”

“So the mighty Aen Seidhe are not above such heinous acts, are they?” Gwen snorted and held her hand out for the skin. With a frown, she added, “Why do you care so much about such things anyway?”

The look Owain shot her otherwise might have made her wither on the spot, or set her aflame, but after the sparring match they had just shared, she could only meet the look head-on. “Because I cannot care without there being a reason?”

“You almost broke your hand hitting something,” the half-elf pointed out coolly after she lowered the skin again. 

“But it is the truth. I have had no terrible experiences with rape, and neither have any of my loved ones, thank the gods.” Owain lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Just the thought of using someone in such a way for one’s own benefit disgusts me. Which is why I can’t stand that Dylan. You being who you are and what you’ve been through, it seems to me a miracle you can be around him at all.”

Gwen blinked, hand freezing in mid-air as she was about to give the skin back to the trainer. “Dylan? What’s he got to do with this?”

“His parents were killed in a raid, and when those very humans tried to touch his sister, he ended up assaulting them much in the same way they had intended for her. Whether it’s true or not, Iorveth does not allow him near Flotsam. Surely that must be proof enough.” Owain accepted the skin and turning it upside down above his face, shaking the last few drops into his mouth. 

Gwen could only stare at him, dumbfounded. That Dylan, the one she had a glaring feud with? She never would have thought him capable of such crimes. By the time she realised goose bumps had spread across her skin at the thought, Owain had already broached the next subject.

“Speaking of Iorveth, what did you do this time?” 

“W-what? Why would you think I’ve done something?”

The master-at-arms allowed a hint of laughter in those eyes of his. “Even an old man like me can still catch wind of the latest news. The inh’eid and the unit leader kissing in a tree, quite romantic.”

Gwen wanted to comment on how she was probably older than him, but instead she stuttered, “T-that was—”

“Only one time? An _accident_?” Owain actually sniggered this time. “I wonder how many people have managed to accidentally kiss the commander. If he ever lets anybody close enough for that.”

The elf’s mirth only grew when Gwen’s cheeks – which had only just begun to recover its original colour – turned red away, clashing with the black locks that framed her face. 

“Too bad your little romance novel will remain nothing more than a fantasy,” the half-elf muttered, averting her gaze. “The _commander_ has made it quite clear that he wants nothing to do with me. At least like that.”

Owain snorted, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the ground with the help of the tree. “You two tell yourselves that, and maybe, just maybe we’ll have many more quiet nights in the future.”

Brows knitting together, Gwen tilted her head to the side and watched the elf leave before deciding she should probably get Aderyn to check her wounds again. The trainer’s words echoed at the back of her mind while she wondered how she could possibly explain the state of her body to her friend.


	18. Trajectory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist makes her way to the river to await the return of a squad. More trouble and serious talk ensue. Progress is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaah, sorry for the long wait (again!)! I hope you guys can find it in your lovely hearts to forgive me. Perhaps this extra long chapter of 5k words will help you with this? Perhaps also the news that chapter 19 has already been written and I have already put 4k words for chapter 20 on paper? I'm so excited to see how my dear readers are going to react to the developments coming up. But don't let me keep you here. Go on, read on and enjoy~
> 
> The title comes from the song by Voices from the Fuselage, "Meteorites".

When Iorveth realised that the glower the inh’eid reserved for him melted away after a few days, whereas his rage burned on, he couldn’t help but wonder when she had changed. Now, when the two chanced upon each other, her furrowed brows would betray her confusion, not her anger. She went out of her way to avoid him, too, which was probably for the best.

Still, the commander could not help but wonder _why_ he remained mad at her. Because she had slighted his pride? Men had done much worse to him, and for much less. In retrospect, the things he had said to her might have been out of place. That caused enough puzzlement for the Aen Seidhe as it was. Why did his rationality abandon him in the company of that bloede inh’eid? Why could he not keep his calm when near her? 

And the kiss, that bloede _cusan_ … Why did his mind constantly recall that moment without his leave? He had thought he would figure it all out before the ambush, but apparently that had not been the case. Soon word of Foltest’s death would reach their ears out here in the forest, and he still wondered how it was possible for the inh’eid to have grown into a better person than him. 

Then again, why did he care? He had slaughtered people by the dozens, whether man, woman or child. He had burned entire villages to the ground. He had fought for Nilfgaard, and when they had sought to eradicate him, he had survived. What did it matter that one stupid inh’eid who had blamed both human and elf for her predicament had managed to become more reasonable than he had? 

He had no time for this. Any moment now, the La Valette squad would be returning, together with the vatt’ghern and Foltest’s head, and the Scoia’tael had to make sure no prying eyes would be looking when they did. So soon after the Flotsam ambush, however, many soldiers were still recovering. He would need to assemble a team of strong and experienced elves to accompany him to the waterside, just in case. And he already feared who he would have to take. 

Though there was nothing graceful about the way she moved, or so Ciaran had said, she had gotten the job done better than most. When questioned about how she had gotten wounded, he had blamed it on bad luck, but something in his eyes had told the commander there was more to it than that. Perhaps something that had to do with the state of the inh’eid’s mind upon returning from the battle. 

Still, bad luck was all it took to get someone killed. Skill, however, she had proved to have, then. Ciaran was not loose with his compliments, and certainly not when it came to her, with whom he seemed to have a rocky relationship at best. Then again, he wasn’t the only one. Iorveth wondered who was at fault at the animosity that still lingered in part of his unit. 

Owain, too, had emphasised her experience and talent. All that she had to do was work on her state of mind. Far too rash to be of any help, he had claimed, but Iorveth had seen that he was fond of her. At least she had also made friends in the camp. In time, they might forget the dh’oine blood that flowed through her veins. 

And then there was Ivor, whose face always reminded him of days long gone. The commander neither regretted nor longed for the past they had had: it had simply come to an end, and they had parted on friendly terms. Still, the Aen Seidge was a dear friend of his, and the fact that Ivor seemed to trust the inh’eid made it all the easier for him. Then why didn’t he just accept her sword by his side? 

The fact that it had been raining all day did nothing to improve Iorveth’s mood. He was still busy contemplating this when an elf appeared before him, lowering himself to his knee at once. The gesture always made him uncomfortable. He had not overthrown countless lords only to be seen as one himself. The moment they started addressing him with ‘m’lord’, he might scream. 

“What is it, Shea?” he asked, gesturing for the boy to stand. It was one of the group he had sent to Lobinden to remain on the lookout for any news regarding the La Valette squad, which could only mean one thing. 

“It’s Foltest,” Shea stated. “He’s dead. I heard it from some fishermen in Lobinden, and Cedric confirmed it.”

The commander nodded once and thanked his comrade. It would be impossible to find out when exactly the king had died through word of mouth, so Iorveth knew that the group could return anytime between that moment and a week… Which meant that he had to get to the river as soon as possible. 

Much to his dismay, that meant he would have to take the inh’eid with him. Many of his subordinates were still too wounded for the battles that might ensue, and he had a bad feeling about the entire thing to begin with. The inh’eid was an invaluable asset, more experienced in a wide variety of situations than many others in the camp. And unlike with the ambush where Iorveth had had to divide his unit in two groups, this time he had to leave a strong guard behind to defend the camp while he took a small but powerful squad with him to the river. But no matter how logical Iorveth thought about it, it wasn’t going to get any easier. There is no rest for the wicked, is there? 

Without wasting any more time, he turned around and allowed word of a meeting to spread throughout the camp. In no time his subordinates had gathered at the designated place, wet hair sticking to their skins, and while they waited for the remaining few to arrive, Iorveth and Ciaran discussed the units. Iorveth wanted Ciaran to remain behind and assume command while the leader himself was out, and he assigned him a team of capable warriors to protect the camp. The elf nodded in understanding, gave suggestions when he thought they were needed, and together they picked the members of Iorveth’s squad. 

Although many of the Aen Seidhe that by now surrounded them had witnessed the forging of the plan, they repeated the results for any newcomers or those who had not been paying attention. In an absurdly short amount of time, the crowd had dispersed, some soldiers flocking to Ciaran for orders, while others remained at Iorveth’s side. All of them were buzzing with excitement at the news they had just heard. 

Foltest was dead. The vatt’ghern had succeeded. Not even the rain could dampen the joy in their hearts.

~~~~

Gwen stood at the back of the group of elves surrounding Iorveth, trying her very best to remain out of sight. After all, she knew just how Iorveth felt about her, which was also part of why she was so confused that he had picked her for this mission. Though the most of her wounds had healed, she asked herself whether there hadn’t been any more suitable warriors for this mission.

But then again, the fact that the commander had chosen her to join him to the river even though her body still ached a little made her swell with pride. He wouldn’t have chosen her to accompany the group if he wasn’t absolutely sure she would be an asset. She knew how stubborn he could be, and with how their last… encounter had ended, this was nothing short of a miracle and a huge compliment. 

She just had to ignore the fact that the elf refused to even glance in her direction the whole time he stood there. 

“We must depart at once, for we have no way of knowing when the others will return. We must try to be there to await them when they do,” Iorveth said, his voice strangely soft in that moment as he stared at the ground, his brows knit together. When he raised his eye, it cut Gwen’s way, whose breath caught in her throat. As if realising his mistake, he looked away immediately and added, “So pack all that you need for the oncoming week and return here. We will leave at once.”

The soldiers – Gwen recognised a few, but knew only the name of the one who had attacked her when she had first come here, namely Maeve – nodded before leaving.

Honestly, the half-elf had no clue what it was she should take with her, other than a weapon. She had spent months, years even, wearing the same pair of clothes, which she had washed whenever she had gotten the chance and which she had repaired to the best of her abilities when something broke. Not often did one come across a corpse with the size of a female half-elf, and whenever she had found a village, she had not had the coin or wares to buy new clothes. She had made do with the hides of the animals she caught.

And so she decided to do just that; not even a bedroll did she take with her. The other elves gave her queer looks when she stood there with nothing but her armour and weapons Owain had given her, but she held her chin high. Perhaps her comrades were only glancing at her because the lower half of her face was still covered in bandages. Her inked skin did not necessarily hurt anymore; it was just that Gwen was too embarrassed to remove the bandages just yet and to reveal her _Scoia’tael_ side to the world. 

They departed for the Pontar when all five members of the group had gathered again. How strange that Aevon y Pont ar Gwennelen, translated as the River of Alabaster Bridges, would be called the Pontar in the Common Speech. Gwen wondered if the humans knew that they had basically named the river _the Bridge_ , by taking that one word from the name in Elder Speech. 

The group descended the hill on which the camp had been built by passing the roses of remembrance and the elven ruins, the same path Gwen had taken during her previous escapade. However, instead of following the stream as she had back then, they made their way deeper into the forest to the west. After all, the La Valette squad would arrive at the bay before reaching Flotsam, hopefully hidden behind the curves of the land and the forest covering it. 

It didn’t take them long to run into trouble. And by trouble, Gwen did not mean the couple of nekkers they took care of earlier, which she could have dealt with herself now that she had regained most of her strength. 

By trouble, Gwen meant the three large endrega warriors that had them surrounded. The rain had drowned out all other sounds, and so the monsters had managed to catch them by surprise. 

At once, the group split apart, slipping past the endregas and turning to face them. In a flash, Gwen had taken out her sword, rushing towards the endrega closest to her. Apparently Maeve had had the same idea. While her own blade struck the side of one of the beast’s leg, Maeve’s daggers clanged off the armour on its back. 

“What,” Gwen managed between breaths as she swung her sword in an upward motion, slashing at its abdomens in its moment of distraction, “never fought one of these before?”

The elf clicked her tongue before she moved to the side, the tail of a second endrega whizzing by and hitting its comrade in the face. “Not everyone is annoying enough to have to survive in the wilderness by themselves.”

The half-elf grinned and spun out of the way of the third warrior, which closed in with its snapping jaws while the other elves – Lorcán and Aengus were their names – tried to draw its attention. It twisted its neck before turning to defend itself.

When Gwen looked back, she blinked at the display before her: somehow, Maeve had landed on her back. The endrega warrior rushed towards her, holding its forearms and tail ready. Her eyes met Maeve’s for a split second, and beside the fear, she realised that the elf did not expect her to help her. 

Reaching out, the half-elf’s fingers caught the warrior by its tail, just above its mace-like ending, and yanked it back with all her might. While it halted its march, she swung her foot at one of its hind legs, her boot catching it just behind the knee, forcing it to buckle beneath its weight. Just like that, the warrior sank to the ground, and though it struggled to its feet at once, Maeve had just enough time to scramble up and take up her position once more.

In its anger, the endrega began to charge at her, but Gwen jumped to the side, landing another blow to its stomach as it passed her by. Its tail, however, waved towards her, and before she knew it, it crashed into her body, shoving her to the wet grass.

When she looked up, she saw Iorveth, parrying his endrega’s blows with ease, or so it seemed. Even from where she lay, she saw him clench his angular jaw, his Adam’s apple moving up and down when he swallowed. So mesmerised was she by the sight of him, that it took a yell from Maeve, who rushed past her towards the warrior, to pull her out of her thoughts and back to the matter at hand. 

The elf danced away from the creature’s arms, but could not close the distance between herself and its weak spot with nothing but her daggers. All she could do was keep it busy while Gwen approached it from the other side once more, piercing it in its side and yanking its skin open with a yell. Blood and entrails splashed onto her boots, and she clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering when she thought about what it would have felt like had she been barefoot. The creature gave one final screech before it fell to the ground, where it lay unmoving. 

Another endrega broke the moment by charging into the scene, followed by Aengus to its left and Lorcán to its right, who tried to reach its stomach with their swords. Though they only managed to get in small cuts here and there, when Maeve went after them, Gwen knew they’d be just fine. Probably.

Instead she made her way towards Iorveth, who by himself had managed to wound his warrior a couple of times as well, but the creature continued to put up quite the fight. He had parried the beast’s spiked tail with his sword and gritted his teeth as he tried to keep it away from him. 

Almost, the half-elf felt uncomfortable, helping the commander like this when he had made it quite obvious what he thought of her. But not coming to his aid because of this would be unreasonable and childish, so she raised her sword to attack the endrega.

In the blink of an eye, the monster had swept up one of its hind legs, hitting the half-elf square in the stomach. Gwen doubled over, coughing, and dropped her blade. 

“Shit…!” she swore when she slipped, eyes widening when she saw the monster turn away from Iorveth and make its way towards her, its jaws clicking all the while.

Unfortunately, it was upon her before she could reach for her weapon or get back to her feet, and instead she found herself grabbing two of its forelegs and pushing them away with all her might. Seeing those pincers clacking together, reaching for her, a sudden terror filled her and she bit her tongue as she kept the beast away from her. She tasted blood, and a bead of sweat tickled her temple and cheek as it slid down her face. Much to her surprise, she managed to force the warrior to take a single step back.

Which it reclaimed immediately after, startling her by lifting its arms into the air, dragging her along with them. With a yelp, Gwen crashed to the ground again while the endrega moved closer still. She stared death right in the face, when suddenly the endrega slumped. 

It took the half-elf a few moments before she realised it was dead. When she looked up, she saw Iorveth flicking blood off his sword and sheathing it. He reached down for hers and held out a hand for her. Moving gingerly, she accepted both his hand and the hilt of her sword that he offered her afterwards, her hands shaking as she returned her weapon to its sheath.

Then she dusted her hands off before stepping away from the corpse, as if it might jump at her again. Without a word, she moved towards Maeve and helped her gather ingredients from the warrior the two of them had killed. 

“I thought you had experience fighting these things,” the elf stated, her lips spread in a grin. “Seems like that was a close call. If it weren’t for the commander…” She whistled and traced a finger across her neck. 

Gwen only shrugged without looking up. “Well, we can’t all pick the easy fights, now can we?” After all, Maeve had gone to help Angus and Lorcán – that was three against one. 

Soon, the group was on its way once more, trudging through the rain towards the river. They passed whatever territory the warriors had been trying to defend and found that the rest of the trip went by in relative peace. 

Gwen would have stepped into yet another trap had Iorveth not pushed her out of the way rather roughly. Aengus stumbled upon a nekker nest and shoved a Grapeshot bomb in, jumping out of the way just in time for the explosion, screaming loudly as he did so. Lorcán slipped while laughing at his friend, landed in a bush and came crawling out with ants covering his body. The elf spent the rest of the way complaining and scratching himself. 

The farther they travelled, the more Gwen wondered how Iorveth could have considered this group to be any good for the mission. 

After a few hours, they began to climb to the top of a hill nearby Flotsam, and the sound of other water than the rain could be heard. Though there were still many hours left to the day, it was already dark when Iorveth announced this was where they would set up camp. While the elves pitched their tents and rolled out their bedrolls, Gwen searched for dry pieces of wood in the hopes of getting a fire started after receiving Iorveth’s permission to do so. 

Though it took her a while and many attempts, in the end the half-elf managed to gather enough wood for a fire. After hesitating whether she should ask Iorveth to finish the deed, she instead went to Aengus, who did not even seem surprised by the request. By the time they had gotten a fire going, an elf from Lobinden had come and gone, announcing that the group had not yet arrived at their end of the river either, which meant that they were still on their way. Now all they had to do was wait. 

Sitting around the fire, faces glowing oranges in the darkness, the Scoia’tael members stared at the flames as if they might show them the future. Gwen tried to keep her distance from the fire, feeling Iorveth’s eye looking in her direction as she did so, but at the same time she wanted to rid her body of the cold. 

Almost, almost she regretted not having brought anything else with her. But at the same time she felt strangely at peace, remembering the many nights she had sat beside a small fire all by herself, waiting for the next day to begin. She dug the toes of her bootless feet into the earth and closed her eyes. 

As if somehow reading her thoughts, Maeve asked, “How long did you live like this?”

The half-elf looked up in surprise, wondering who the question had been meant for, but that soon became obvious when she saw Lorcán and Aengus looking at her as well. Averting her gaze to the fire once more, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. 

“It’s not like I kept track of it. I left Vengerberg after my mother died, which must have been around… twenty years ago?” Put like that, it sounded like a long time ago. Then why could she remember like it had been yesterday? But then again, it had been even longer ago that Elric had taken their son away from her, and she still knew exactly how the child’s wails had sounded and what the bastard had told her. 

Maeve shook her head, as if in disbelief. “So that means you lived between humans for so long. For how long did you have to suffer _that_? Thirty years? Forty?” 

“Uh…” was all Gwen could say. Maeve, who had actually cut her in her hatred for her, now talked to her as if she had been part of this unit for years, asking all these questions. The half-elf did not quite know how to react to that. Then again, she didn’t know why she was even answering the questions. And why did everyone think she was so young? “Make that eighty.” 

Now it was the company’s turn to stare at Gwen. 

“You’re _a hundred_ years old?!” Lorcán all but shouted, scratching the bites scattered along his arms. “I didn’t even know inh’eid could get that old.”

“What, you think we all drop like flies, like the humans do? Where do you think our elf blood goes?” 

“Weird to think that you’re older than the rest of us,” Maeve cut in, and Iorveth cleared his throat. “Well, most of us. The Goddess knows how old _he_ is.” The commander remained silent at that. 

“But then you lived with humans for _eighty_ years,” Aengus stated. He let out a low whistle. “And managed to get out whole.”

Gwen wondered if one could still call her ‘whole’, and so she said nothing, instead opting to listen to the others as they told her their stories. 

Aengus told her of how he, too, had lived between humans in a city as well. Though it had been in the slums, his family had never been unhappy. Always surrounded by other children – humans, elves and even a couple of half-elves, sometimes a few dwarves as well – he had at least never gone lonely, which had made up for the lack of food. The plight of being poor brought all these different people together, who lived in relative harmony. Aengus had left the city of his own free will, wanting to lighten the burden of his parents by moving out. Joining the Scoia’tael had been a logical next step from there. 

On the other hand, Lorcán was one of the few elves born and bred in the woods. His parents had belonged to another unit of the Scoia’tael. They – as well as many other elves there – died a few years ago during a harsh winter nobody had reckoned with, and his parents had sacrificed themselves to save him, freezing to death with him in the middle. Somehow he had managed to survive long enough to find Iorveth, who had taken him in. 

And then there was Maeve, who hated humans above all else, even though she had been raised by them. A human couple had found her as a babe, sure to die soon, and had raised her as their own. They protected her from the other humans in the village, until her father died of old age. With only her mother there to keep the others at bay, the villagers would not accept defeat, and in the end even her mother had told her she had to leave. Gwen had wanted to tell her that her mother had probably believed that sending her off would be better for her than to keep her in the vicinity of the villagers. But Gwen knew better than anyone else that hearing such things from others meant little to nothing. 

Feeling guilty about the small amount of information she had shared, Gwen, for the first time in years, talked about the death of her mother. Demavend had always been a hater of elves, even before he had inherited the throne. Gwen’s presence must have been a blessing in disguise for the other elves, for Demavend hated none more than her: an unnatural creature, the evidence of the joining of human and elf. In the weeks leading up to the day that would be her mother’s last, the guards had made her life pure torture, continually harassing her mother and her. When the guards had finally received the order to kill her, they hadn’t been able to find her, and so they had set her house on fire. This resulted in the entire street burning to the ground. Anybody unlucky enough to get caught in the disaster died: her mother had only been one of the victims that night. 

Iorveth remained silent throughout the entire evening. At one point, he even got up to retrieve some meat he had packed, one piece for each, and began to roast them above the fire. By then, the rain had finally stopped, allowing them to hear the sounds of the village in the distance, as well as the rustle of the leaves in the steady wind.

The leader was also the first to announce he would keep watch, leaving the fire in favour of settling down near the cliff, where he probably had a better view of the river. 

Catching Gwen staring at him, Maeve whispered, “The commander rarely shares any information about himself. We barely even know how he got that scar.” 

The half-elf hummed softly, gaze never once leaving Iorveth’s back. When the others retreated to their bedrolls, she remained outside, curled by the dying fire, staring at the broad back of her leader and the stars that shone beyond.

~~~~

His mind had been blank for most of the evening, letting what he had heard sink in while he kept an eye on their surroundings. His eyes had gotten used to the dark after leaving the fire, and so he could easily discern the movements of the river. Or _on_ the river.

Somebody sank to the ground next to him all of a sudden, and he didn’t have to turn to see who it was. She yawned and stretched her arms out above her, so he guessed that she had been asleep for the past few hours. 

Neither one of them spoke as they watched the wind play with the water, creating waves and ripples along the shore. Off to the side, Flotsam slept. From here, it almost seemed like a normal village, its troubles temporarily forgotten. If only the peace could last until past dawn.

When her breathing had evened out and Iorveth thought she had fallen asleep again, he said, “I had not known that Demavend meant to kill you.” 

His voice sounded loud in the silence of the night. He did not know why he said it. But from the moment she told them, certain things had suddenly made sense. Small, unnoticeable things that anybody else would have filed away and forgotten. She hadn’t saved Talullah in Flotsam that day because she had been feeling particularly gallant. She had done so because she knew what it was like when innocent people died for her. 

“Well, it’s not exactly something I go about yelling at the top of my lungs,” she pointed out, her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Claiming that kings have tried to kill you is bad for your reputation. No offense.” 

Possibly for the first time since meeting her, the commander chuckled. If the gesture surprised the half-elf, she did not show it. For once she kept her emotions in check. 

Without thinking, he heard himself say, “Of the fifty-three Vrihedd brigade officers, only I and one other survived. If this reputation is what withholds a dh’oine from coming after me, I can only see it as favourable.” 

After he had spoken, for a while only the water and the wind could be heard. Almost, he reprimanded himself for suddenly talking about something like that, especially with how strained their relationship had been these past few days. Weeks, even.

“What…” she began before he could, swallowing and licking her lips. “What was it like? Fighting for Nilfgaard?” 

“Just like it is to fight here. The enemy and the war changed, but it is what it is: surviving.” The Aen Seidhe shrugged, his eye wondering across the piece of land on the other side of the river. 

She parted her lips but quickly pressed them together again. He knew what she wanted to ask, as many others did. Though he did not hide his scar, at least not amongst his trusted comrades, he had never felt the need to share how he had acquired it with them. Perhaps that was why many ridiculous rumours about it existed in the camp. It had gotten to the point where the right side of his face had become something of a legend among his soldiers. If he had not been so bitter about the disfigurement, he might have found the whole ordeal amusing. 

But the inh’eid did not voice her thoughts, and so he did not have to deflect her question, possibly ruining the almost friendly moment they were having. Iorveth did not want to admit how much this satisfied him. 

Only when her head sank against his shoulder did he realise that she most likely hadn’t asked her question because she had fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cusan = Kiss (Welsh)


	19. Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist goes to battle and finds herself in a deadly situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to warn my dear readers in advance that, though the next three or so chapters are more or less finished, there will be no update next week. This is mainly because, at this time next week, I will be lying in a tent and enjoying (or hating) the festival atmosphere at Wacken Open Air! Additionally, the next chapter will contain a very important moment, and I want one of my friends to read through it all to make sure everything fits. I hope y'all can forgive me for the delay~
> 
> "Anew" belongs to the band Voices from the Fuselage.

Five nights had passed by before Lorcán, who had been keeping watch at the time, frantically waved at the others, gesturing for them to come closer. Maeve and Gwen had just returned from hunting, but they dropped their prizes in order to rush towards the stony cliff that looked over the water. Aengus and Iorveth already stood there, peering down at the elves and the vatt’ghern as they climbed from their boats. 

From the way Iorveth kept glancing at Flotsam, Gwen knew that he felt uncomfortable and vulnerable, out here in broad daylight. But from the tired looks on almost everyone’s faces, it looked like they had done their best. Gwen had to swallow hard at the sight of Ivor with dark rings beneath his eyes, an arm slung around a comrade. His torso was naked but for the bandages, stained with dirt and blood, wrapped around his chest. 

“Do we go down and help them?” Aengus asked, his bark brown eyes never leaving the shore. He had begun to fidget as well now, his fingers lingering close to the bow on his back. 

“An archer remains here,” Iorveth stated before turning. “The rest packs up and leaves.”

Aengus and Lorcán shared a look before Aengus nodded, releasing his bow in one swift movement and training it on the ground below. The others followed Iorveth, who had already begun to gather his supplies. Gwen took care of Aengus’s bedroll and tent, though she took twice as long doing so than the others. By the time she had managed to dismantle the tent somewhat, Maeve had already begun to help her, tutting and shaking her head all the while. 

“For someone with so much experience out in the wild…” she began, but Gwen flicked a rope into her face before she could finish, for which she received a glare in return. 

By the time they had climbed down the hill and circled it to greet the squad, the elves had gathered their belongings from the boats and had begun to make their way towards the forest. The going was terribly slow, however, for Ivor wasn’t the only one badly wounded. With her lips pursed, Gwen noted that some elves were actually being carried by their comrades. She hoped they were simply asleep.

“Are you all right?” she asked, rushing to Ivor’s side and alleviating some of the burden from the elf who had been helping him along. “What happened?” 

The unfamiliar elf scoffed, but Gwen kept her eyes trained on Ivor’s face, which contorted in pain before his chapped lips formed a small smile. As if, even now, he was trying to look out for her, despite the fact that _he_ was the one who couldn’t walk by himself.

Sand crunched beneath their boots as they made their way across the muddy shore, when all of a sudden Aengus yelled from up above. Then an arrow sped by, which Gwen followed with her eyes, wide and darting. As she felt every muscle in her body grow taut, her hands tightened their grip on Ivor. The arrow hit its mark, right through the face of a guard. 

Unfortunately, there were more than just one guard. All of them began to rush towards the elves while their comrade fell to the ground.

The La Valette squad, minus the vatt’ghern, could only stare at the humans, their brains most likely too addled to comprehend the situation. Luckily for them, they were not on their own. 

“Can you take him by yourself?” Gwen asked the elf on the other side of Ivor, who nodded and took on the additional weight by himself. 

When Gwen had pressed herself through the group to greet the guards, two more lay on the ground courtesy of Aengus, and most likely Lorcán, who stood to the side with a bow of his own. Maeve had rushed into the fray with her twin daggers, her brown braid following her like a flag as she spun around two more soldiers. The vatt’ghern, too, had taken on several of them at once, as had Iorveth, holding his sword high to parry the blows. 

Yet there were still many more humans trying to get past them to get to the wounded elves. Some of them fell before they could get too close, but there were still too many for Gwen’s liking. And so she, too, positioned herself between them and the wounded with her blade in hand. 

She easily blocked the first sword that came her way, pushing the guard away before he could close the distance. A second guard appeared to the side, and she raised her arms to block that one, as well. By then the first guard had approached her once more, swinging his weapon sideways. With a grunt, she jumped back, out of the sword’s path, and kneeled. 

Grabbing a fistful of sand, she flung it in their faces before charging them. The men yelled and rubbed at their eyes, making for easy prey. The half-elf kicked the legs from beneath one of them, who landed on the ground with a loud rattle. The remaining guard she tried to slash across his stomach, but the chainmail reflected her blow, and instead he was only forced to take a few steps back. 

And then suddenly another arrow flew past her, except this one came a little too close for comfort. Off to the side she saw a guard with a bow, already reloading it for his next shot. At the same time, from the corner of her eye, she noted another blade rushing towards her. She twisted and parried it, used the momentum of the turn to slash once, twice, thrice at him, moving towards the river as they went, all the while trying to avoid the arrows. It seemed like an impossible task, yet arrow after arrow sailed over her shoulder and dug itself into the muddy sand or was washed away by the water. 

When she heard footsteps behind her, she swung her leg backwards with all her might, her sword still beleaguering the guard in front of her. She did not know what she hit, but hit something she did, for someone yelped and fell to the ground behind her once more. 

After turning her attention back to the man in front of her, she used his moment of distraction, his eyes darting towards his comrade, to reach for the dagger on her belt and to plunge it into his stomach. Blood stained his tunic as well as his lips. Gwen gave him a shove and watched him fall backwards, into the river.

Only then did she realise just how close she had gotten to the water. How had she failed to notice the water lapping at her boots, making every step she took heavier? The sound of waves crashing around her? 

She had no more time to ponder such things when her luck ran out and an arrow pierced her shoulder. As if on cue, one of the men she had temporarily taken care of returned, running towards her with his sword pointed at her, though he moved rather slowly due to the mud grappling at his shoes. At least he was coming after her, not the retreating elves. 

With a yell of pain, the half-elf forced herself to lift her blade again. She almost sank to her knee when the guard hit her, but she clenched her jaw and stood her ground. Too late did she realise that her dagger still stuck out of the other guard, who was slowly but surely being dragged out by the waves. Gwen bit her lower lip and drew blood. 

The man pulled away and swung his weapon at her, but Gwen stumbled back just in time. He followed her and repeated the movement, and this time the tip of his blade caught her on the cheek. Eyes wide, her breath hitched as she turned her head to the side. Only when the bandages covering her lower face fell away and she lifted a finger to her skin did she realise she had been cut.

Giving her no time to react, the guard continued to hack away at her, and it was all Gwen could do to block the blows, wincing every time she tensed her shoulder. With a yell, the human brought his sword down with such strength that she fell backwards, gloves sinking into the sand and filling with water. 

Her dirk lay but a few paces away from her, she realised with a quick glance. Before the guard could get any closer – for he, too, struggled with the river – she kicked him in the shin. His knee dropped to the ground and his greaves buried themselves in the mud. In the meantime, she half-crawled, half-flopped towards his fallen comrade, choking and coughing whenever a wave rolled onto her. 

Salt stung in her eyes, her wounds, her mouth, but she forgot all this when her fingers found the hilt of her dagger. Pressing the body down with her other hand, she tugged the knife free. She gritted her teeth at the pain that shot down her arm from the arrow that still stuck out of her shoulder.

When she heard someone splashing closer to her, she turned around just in time to see the human all but tripping over his own feet to get to her. He growled incoherent words and bared his teeth at her, almost as though he were an animal. Which, in Gwen’s eyes, he _was_. 

She held her weapon ready, inhaling deeply as if that would stop her heart from beating harshly against her ribcage. It almost worked, until she saw the man rush towards her with a scream, a looming shadow that blocked out the sky above her. The sound of her own blood rushing in her ears drowned out the waves crashing around her, pulling her to and fro, as she watched him come closer, unable to move. 

The weight of the armoured body hit her like a horse, and her surroundings blurred. The rays of sun tried to reach out to her, but could not quite touch her, and even the sound of water lapping at her body fell away completely. For the length of a breath, all seemed at peace… Until the half-elf remembered her predicament and gasped, only to inhale water. 

Pushing herself up, she sputtered as she tried to rid her lungs of the liquid in them. Only then did she realise that the guard had all but flung himself onto the dagger in her hands, killing himself. While her lungs burned, her breath rasping as her heart began to slow down, another arrow came her way. Since she still had a guard lying on top of her, it hit him in the back instead.

Gwen grunted and pushed the body away, the arrow in her shoulder getting caught on his armour several times, before he joined his other friend in the sand. In the meantime, the half-elf had retrieved her dirk and sheathed it once more, before she tried to crawl out of the water, through the muddy beach, towards her sword. 

Standing on the shore was the bowman, who had still managed to go unnoticed by the others. The La Valette squad had already retreated, but the warriors who had stayed behind were still busy dealing with the other guards. How many of them even were there?!

By the time Gwen had staggered towards shallower parts of the river, the bowman had reloaded and aimed for her once more. She knew she wouldn’t be able to dodge or parry it. There was also no way she could close the distance between the two of them with the mud slowing her down, sucking her deeper with every step she took. 

Just before he loosed another arrow, a bow from somewhere above thwanged, and the guard twitched, his arrow sailing through the air before landing in the sand. By then, Aengus had put three more of his own into the guard, who sank to his knees with nothing more than a croak. His crossbow fell to the mud beside him. 

Before the half-elf could celebrate, however, yet another human approached her. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gwen muttered as she held her blade ready. The energy had begun to drain from her limbs, the steel growing heavier with every passing moment. 

She let out a breath when she noted that the shore was scattered with guards lying on the ground – more than those still on their feet. Morale must have sunk for the guards, but at the same time it became obvious they were also becoming more agitated. 

Especially when the human approaching her all but screamed as he swung his sword at her. She should have sidestepped, she knew that, but she did not trust her feet to keep her steady. Instead, she caught the blade with hers, sparks flying through the air at the impact, but in his frustration the guard stepped closer. Their noses almost touched, and he opened his mouth as if to bite her. Gwen flinched away from him, the hold on her blade faltering for the blink of an eye, but it was all he had needed. 

The next moment, her sword stood upright in the mud, its hilt almost begging her to reach for it. But if she were to do that, she’d leave herself wide open. Once more unsheathing her dagger, she hoped it would be enough to withstand her assailant’s attacks, at least long enough for help to arrive. 

That idea flew right out of the window when the man reached forward, gloved hand clasping the blade of her knife, and jerked it from her grasp. Gwen gaped at the blood that dripped from his hand as he flung the dagger to the side. 

Now the only thing the half-elf _could_ do was jump to the side when the guard brought his sword down, staggering as though he were drunk. When Gwen tried to take another step away from him, she found her boot had sunk too deep. She was stuck. 

Eyes wide, all she could do was hold her arms up once the guard had caught up with her and raised his blade one more time. As if they would do her any good in that moment. In her fear, she didn’t even feel the arrow shift around in her shoulder as she moved. 

“Gwen!” Aengus called out once more, and without thinking she tried to at least lean to the side as he loosed another arrow in her direction.

Without missing its mark, it pierced the right hand of the human, who shrieked and dropped his weapon. The blade fell to the sand with a soft thud. 

Gwen, too, yelped when she realised the arrow had scraped her hip. However, in her frantic attempt to get out of the way, she had managed to pull her foot out of her boot, regaining at least some of her mobility. She tried to ignore the feeling of mud between her toes as she moved away from the human, but by then he had already grabbed her arm. 

He dragged her down with him, pinned her with the weight of his armour just like his comrade – albeit unintentionally – had. Even then, she registered the smell of alcohol on his breath, and she grimaced as her hands clawed at his tunic. She saw Aengus firing arrow after arrow at them, but none of them managed to hit any vital organs.

“Where’d they go?!” he screamed into her face, spittle joining the drops of water and blood that already adorned her face. 

It took the half-elf a few moments before she realised that with ‘they’ he meant ‘the elves’. When she finally did, she spat in his face. 

With a growl, he managed to twist her around beneath him, despite all her efforts to free herself. Planting his hand on the back of her head, he pushed it down until he smothered her in the mud. She balled her hands into fists, clenching at the dirt under her while she tried her best to kick the bastard off of her. 

“Where are they?!” he screeched once more, seemingly forgetting that she couldn’t answer him with her mouth full of fucking mud and sand. 

When he did remember, he yanked her up by her short hair and repeated his question. Gwen gasped for breath, choked on whatever it was that filled her mouth, and gasped some more. The human waited almost patiently for her to answer, but when all he received was a glare – Gwen was too busy wondering what she looked like to even contemplate selling out her comrades – he pressed her face down again. 

Whether he knew he wouldn’t get an answer from her, or whether he simply didn’t care about killing yet another Squirrel, this time he didn’t pull her back up. Her throat tightened as she struggled to breath, the edges of what little vision she had left darkening. Suddenly the beach beneath her seemed so far away, and the screaming of her body became all-encompassing. The only sound she could hear was that of her heart beating frantically, as if it might burst. 

For the first time in years, an anger she had long forgotten burned deep within her. For the first time in years, she did not yearn for death, but wanted to _live_. 

A roar filled her ears all of sudden, and it took her a moment to realise that it wasn’t her will to survive that had somehow managed to manifest itself. The weight holding her down disappeared, and at once she propped herself up on her arms, heaving as she sucked in breath after breath. She could see stripes of light blinking in and out of existence, and when she realised that she had almost died, bile rose at the back of her throat. Somehow she managed to force it back down, together with some lingering sand in her mouth, and to distract herself she rolled onto her back. The sight that welcomed her almost made her stop breathing once more. 

Right in front of her, none other than Iorveth himself rolled around in the sand together with the guard, who looked absolutely terrified. Before long, the commander released the man, only to straddle his back and, with a rough hand, press his face into the sand. Muffled screams filled the air, and Gwen watched, mesmerised, as the human’s legs soon began to twitch violently before he went limp. At the same time, the half-elf was horrified by how fast it had gone. When it had been herself in the very same position, it had almost felt like an eternity. 

As if satisfied with his work, Iorveth got up from his victim and turned to find Gwen staring at him. Now both of them were covered in mud from crown to toe, making for a rather absurd image. If she hadn’t just witnessed the man she had fallen for, who seemed like a walking enigma, murder the human who had wanted to kill her, she might have burst into laughter. 

The elf met her gaze, and for a long moment, they both remained silent. She could almost see the cogs turning inside his head, trying to formulate a plan. Trying to reason with himself. Why had he done what he did? In the way that he did it? How much of a fool had he made of himself? Would he ever be able to live up to the repercussions of his actions? Who knew what the leader thought? If Ivor were here, he would probably be able to give her a proper translation of the elf’s empty stare. 

All of a sudden, Iorveth made his way to her, his steps slow and deliberate, but perhaps that was just the mud. When he stood beside her, he held out a hand, and she stared at it for a few moments before slipping hers in his grasp. He pulled her up with ease and caught her when she staggered. While she realised that the arrow piercing her shoulder had snapped in two, he retrieved her weapons for her. As he handed them back to her, she realised that he, too, had his fair share of cuts, in particular a nasty one just beneath his eye. 

Gwen wanted to reach out and clear the grime and blood away, but stopped herself just in time. Then, without a word, the two of them made their way towards Maeve and Lorcán, who had been discussing who of them had fought the best, which apparently meant felling the most enemies while receiving the least amount of wounds. Because Maeve had both killed the most humans as well as been hit the most, they called it a tie, just in time to watch in wonder as two… mud men approached them. It seemed that the vatt’ghern had already disappeared, though Iorveth did not seem too concerned about it. 

Neither one of them commented on the state of their bodies, and instead Maeve stated, “A couple of them fled. We should probably head back as soon as possible.” 

Iorveth pursed his lips but nodded before signalling to Aengus, who still peered down from the top of the hill, that they would be leaving. They waited for the elf at the foot of the hill, where they had also placed their equipment, before making their way back to the camp. 

Although the arrow in Gwen’s shoulder began to bother her more and more with every step she took, she didn’t care complain about it. She knew they couldn’t take care of their wounds out here in the open, and so she bit her tongue and convinced herself to hold on until they were home again. 

And then, she decided, her eyes never once leaving Iorveth’s back, she’d try and have a talk with him.


	20. Stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist and our love interest finally take their relationship a step further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! I decided that, since I can't get in touch with my friend who was supposed to read this chapter for me, I should update just before I depart after all. And with this, I beg of everyone to please leave behind some feedback - anything, really, to indicate how you found this chapter. Was it great? Shit? Horribly OOC? Anything I should change? I am prepared to redo it completely if that's what you guys think is best. Anyway, mature content ahead! Beware! And most importantly, enjoy~ *wink*
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Speeding Cars" by the band "Walking on Cars".

“Ack!” Gwen winced as Aderyn rubbed at her shoulder almost furiously.

“Squass’me. But honestly… What did you _do_? How come Iorveth and you look like you’ve been rolling in the mud together?” The elf pulled back, eyebrows almost reaching her hairline. “You _didn’t_ …?!” 

Gwen frantically shook her head, her hair bouncing around her face as she did so. She wouldn’t blame her friend if she ended up not believing her tale. It sounded so absurd she could barely fathom she had seen it with her own two eyes. “It’s… ah… A human was trying to drown me in mud and Iorveth saved me?”

Aderyn stared at her before she continued to try and get enough mud off of her to at least take care of the arrow wound. They had been at this for quite a while now, with Aderyn cursing at the hard crust of mud that covered the skin as Gwen winced every now and then. At least the cut on the half-elf’s cheek and the scrape on her waist from Aengus’s arrow had been disinfected and patched up by now. 

“You’re going to have to clean the rest down at the waterfall,” Aderyn stated, rubbing a poultice onto the wound. “But for now, the wounds have stopped bleeding.”

“I must see Ivor first.” Gwen peered over the elf’s shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of where the La Valette squad was being treated. She found herself biting her lip, fingers curling up against her palm and relaxing continuously. A nagging feeling nibbled at the back of her mind, and it had taken her a while to realise that she was worried. With worry came helplessness, and if there was something Gwen did not know how to deal with, it was that.

Remaining silent, Aderyn finished up and, sitting back on her haunches, said, “All right, you swamp monster. But don’t linger, or you’ll infect everyone. And make sure to come back to me to get your wounds bandaged once you’re done getting rid of all that dirt. Good luck with that, by the way.” 

The half-elf scowled at her before passing her by, in the direction of the injured elves. Thankfully, most of them were doing fine after having their wounds patched up. She found Ivor lying on a make-shift bed which consisted of a bedroll and many, many discoloured blankets. It seemed that he was the one who had suffered the most damage, excluding those who had died.

When she kneeled down beside him, he lay there with his eyes closed, and so Gwen thought he had fallen asleep, even with the tumult of elves talking excitedly surrounding them from all sides. This was probably the closest they would ever get to celebrating their success. She ignored the amused and shocked glances they shot her way when they saw what she looked like.

Feeling lost and unsure of what to do, Gwen stopped herself from tucking a loose strand of hair behind Ivor’s ear. A soft chuckle filled the air, and before the half-elf could react, eyes the colour of a clouded sky peered up at her. 

“What happened to _you_?” Ivor asked, his voice so low Gwen had to lean closer to him. The elf grimaced and grunted, fingers clenching at the blankets on his chest. 

Without thinking, her hand shot out and grabbed his. She offered him a small smile and said, “I promise to tell you when you’re feeling better. And then you’ll tell me what happened to you, too.”

For the blink of an eye, the elf seemed startled. Then he smiled back at her and nodded. Gingerly pulling his hand back, he looked at the dried dirt that clung to his skin and said, “Go and clean yourself.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll go right away,” Gwen replied as she got up, jutting her lower lip out. Quickly forming a grin, she waved at him before she turned to leave. 

Past the ruins and down the hill the half-elf went. All traces of winter had been removed, and flowers were scattered about the camp at seemingly random intervals. Gwen noted celandine and verbena, as well as scleroderm and cortinarius. As she began to climb past a couple of rocks, she found a vast amount of bryonia. Birds she couldn’t see sang with abandon, hidden by the dark green leaves of the trees. It almost seemed like any other day, as if nothing had happened. As if people hadn’t lost their lives, and blood hadn’t been shed. 

No one else was at the small pool of water. Not even the nekkers that sometimes nested nearby could be found, and the sound of water rushing down from the top of a pile of rocks added itself to the cacophony of nature that surrounded the half-elf. 

For a moment, Gwen felt slightly disappointed. She had thought, or rather, had hoped that Iorveth would be here as well. Then again, how uncomfortable would that have been, if she’d had to clean herself with him lingering nearby? 

Not quite satisfied with that excuse, the half-elf began to release her breastplate, caked with mud, followed by the chainmail and the tunic she wore beneath it all. She had gathered quite the armoury since her arrival at the Scoia’tael camp, though she kept having to mend something each time she went into battle. 

The sound of footsteps and clinking armour filled the air, and Gwen froze, clutching her tunic to her chest. Without turning her body around, she looked over her shoulder, only to find the man himself behind her, looking almost like a deer caught in the light of a lantern. It would look rather strange if she began to pull her clothes back on, now. She had wanted to talk to him, about what had happened. About what he had done. _Why_ he had done it. 

The memory from that afternoon flit through her mind, and she saw the anger on the elf’s face, the disgust. Now that her throat and lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire, a warmth bloomed within her. She thought of his yell when he tackled the human sitting on her back, the fact that he had gotten himself dirty for her sake. And for the first time since she had tried to confess to him, she believed he had seen her as his equal, not as his subordinate. As his ‘responsibility’. 

Her next move was a risk. But for once she didn’t care, and, looking in front of her again, her shaking fingers dropped her tunic to the ground.

~~~~

Iorveth could see that the inh’eid’s scars from where she had been whipped months ago were still bright and angry as she continued to undress herself, each move deliberately chosen. Starting with her boots, then unbuckling her belt and stripping her breeches, all of them dark with mud, much as his own clothes were. Though she had turned her back to him, even from where he stood, Iorveth could see her trembling.

In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to close the distance between the two of them and to soothe her, but that would betray the tremor currently running through himself as well. To be so close to someone who had become a vulnerability to oneself, to lay oneself bare before them though one wanted nothing more than to run away. After what had happened this afternoon, how he had lost his composure in such a manner, he could no longer deny that he felt _something_ for the inh’eid. 

Once she had pulled off her tattered leggings and had dropped them to the ground with the breeches, she stood there wearing nothing but her smallclothes. Anyone else might have found the situation arousing, but Iorveth knew just how vulnerable she felt in that moment. Just as he, too, felt the same way. 

Uncertain, the inh’eid chanced another look over her shoulder, and though the fear was clearly visible in her dh’oine eyes, she raised a questioning brow at him. He realised that it was his turn, though at least the woman was kind enough to not pay any attention to him as he undid the buckle that held his clothes close to his body after taking off his gloves. He never even considered the option of rejecting her offer and leaving her alone, to return at a later time. Instead, he felt guilty for not offering her the privacy she now gave him, but she did not seem to mind. 

Gwenfrewi most likely felt like she had the upper hand, swaying her backside to and fro when she slid her smallclothes down her legs and freed her breasts from their bindings. They both knew she was only taunting him, but the sight managed to stir something in the old Aen Seidhe. He loosened his breastplate with his collection of coat of arms, pulled his chainmail over his head, dropped his thick brown and green robes to the ground. His undershirt soon followed the rest of his garments. 

With each layer of clothing he removed from his body, a layer of consciousness took its place. By the time he stood wearing nothing but his pants, shoes and scarf, Gwenfrewi had entered the water. While wading to the middle of the pool where the water reached just above her hips, she splashed water into her face and rubbed her skin to rid it of the dark crust that covered it. She dipped her head into the water before combing her fingers through the dirty strands of her short locks.

Iorveth caught himself drinking in the sight of her body. At seeing that there were more scars than just the whip cuts on her back, he suddenly realised why she was always so self-conscious. However, it was the front of her body that she now hid from him, and he could read people well enough to know that she wasn’t simply being squeamish.

When she looked at him from over her shoulder and found him staring at her from beneath his scarf, she frowned. She opened her mouth and the Aen Seidhe heard her inhale, but then she snapped it shut instead. Her eyes sought his after roaming his naked torso for a moment.

He kicked off his boots, released the bindings of his stockings and rolled them down before doing the same for his breeches. When he was naked, he straightened his back and met the inh’eid’s gaze, satisfied with the fact that she looked the tiniest bit flustered. 

No, Iorveth did not feel insecure about his body. Between fighting dh’oine and surviving, there was not a lot of time to feel bad about things such as looks, scars or even how well-endowed one was. Perhaps he had not slept with a lot of elves, but their mentality was much the same: love was a weakness, and lust a primal need for many of them. What did it matter what one looked like? 

At least, that was what he had always told himself, but when he tried to raise his hands to take off his scarf, he found that his arms refused to cooperate. He had always despised that half of his face, but he had never hidden it from his comrades. And Gwenfrewi _was_ a comrade of his, in the end. Then why did he fear her possible reaction?

Without either one of them making a sound, she slowly began to turn towards him, eyes downcast. The side of a breast came into view, though she quickly lifted an arm to cover it, followed by her side, the front of a hip… Iorveth was taken aback by the sight that greeted him.

“You…” he began, hands clenching into fists.

The inh’eid offered him a watery smile as she lifted her other hand to trace along the scar that ran down her stomach, which also sported the remaining signs of stretch marks. 

“There… there was too much elf in me, they said. And too much human in the child. After all, it _was_ a quadroon. You can guess how that works in terms of size.” She let out a laugh, though her eyes held none of the mirth. “I looked like I was carrying twins, if not more. Natural birth wasn’t an option.”

The sadness that her body emitted, the sadness that only a mother who had lost her child could bear, made Iorveth’s heart squeeze in a way it never had. After all, even an inh’eid mother would outlive any child she had together with a human. That, combined with the fact that she looked so completely ordinary, with breasts that sagged slightly, and the many scars that life had given her… She looked nothing like the almost perfect elves that had surrounded Iorveth almost all his life, and he couldn’t help the slight swelling of his member in that most inappropriate moment. 

But Iorveth was not stupid, and he knew why she had offered herself to him like this. With only a little hesitation, he finally raised his arms and pulled his feather away, after which he released the scarf. He exhaled before slipping it off and dropping it onto the pile of his clothes. Then he walked over to the edge of the pool and lowered himself into the water. With every step he took in the direction of the inh’eid, his limbs became heavier, and lifting his hands to clean his face of the dried splatters of mud felt like a chore. He doubted it was only the resistance of the water that caused it. 

He had to give her credit for keeping her eyes focussed on his green eye, taking in his short hair as it fell out of its cropped up form. It was difficult, though, since her curiosity tried to get the better of her. Yet still she resisted giving in to temptation. 

That was all it took for him to reach out for her hand, strangely soft, and place it against his scarred cheek. She grasped the opportunity with both hands, literally, resting her other hand on the left side of his face. The pad of her left thumb moved along the angry line that divided his face like the ground after an earthquake. She traced it from his upper lip to the corner of his eye, where she rested her fingers on top of the empty socket, where the skin was permanently bruised. 

Wonder, not aversion, filled her eye, as though she were a child discovering new territory. He, in the meantime, examined the leaves that crawled their way up her shoulder and neck to adorn her cheek. It looked almost completely healed, and so Iorveth couldn’t help but ask himself why she had kept it bandaged until today. He couldn’t finish the thought, however, for when he saw Gwenfrewi’s realisation at his scar begin to sink in, and the disgust finally appeared, he wanted to pull away. The shaky breath the inh’eid released gave him pause. 

“How could anybody do such a thing?” she murmured, her nails digging into his skin. 

And just like that, whatever invisible weight had been dragging him down disappeared. With the lightness that filled his head came the question of why he even cared so much about her reaction, but by then, without thinking, he had already begun to move. 

Leaning forward, his lips hovered above hers. He heard her breath catch in her throat, saw her tense. He closed his eye and waited.

~~~~

He shifted closer, pressing his body against hers, and looked down at her. She craned her neck, her cheeks turning pink as she noticed the lack of distance between their lips. His breath fanned across her face, and they stood like that for a few moments, her eyes staring at his face. She wanted to be defiant, to push him away, to smirk at what seemed to be his affection for her... But at the same time, she craved it just as much as she wanted to sneer at it.

His lashes were so long, Gwen noticed all of a sudden. She tried, again, to ignore the scar that ran down his cheek, the sunken hollow where once an eye had been. What did it feel like, she asked herself, to have one’s eye removed from one’s socket? A shiver ran down her spine at that thought, and so she tried to banish it from her mind, though she couldn’t help the squeeze that her heart gave. 

Still he waited. For her. Seeing him in front of her, eye shut, mouth almost against hers, something inside of her fluttered. Nobody had ever waited for her.

And so she closed the distance between them.

The reaction was immediate. 

Rough fingers wound themselves in her hair, deepening the kiss instantly as his tongue found hers. His hips brushed against her stomach, together with something else, and the half-elf placed her hands upon his breast, which was surprisingly soft to the touch. Iorveth understood at once and kept his distance… at least when it came to his lower body. 

He smelled of sweat, blood, and leather. Of burning wood, and of roots. A seemingly misplaced hint of smoke, traces of which she could also taste. The half-elf could only describe it as _musky_.

The entity that Gwen was disappeared, melted away, merged with the entity that was Iorveth. They emerged as something else, something _whole_ , as though they were two broken halves put together. 

His tongue moved against hers in rough strokes, teeth occasionally clashing with the urge the two of them had to touch each other in as many places as possible. Her hands roamed his body, caressing every scar she found, and as his hold on her hair remained, his other hand slid down her neck. It caressed the dip of her collarbone, stroked her shoulder, and she winced when his thumb brushed over the arrow wound. 

Nostrils flared as they tried to breathe without breaking apart. He bit her lower lip; she trailed her tongue across his scar. He let out a low groan as she dug her nails into the flesh of his chest; she whimpered when his hand found hers and he caressed the top of her breast. He pulled away only for his mouth to find her neck; she tilted her head back to give him more access.

For the first time in years, Gwen felt something stirring inside of her. She thought that she had forgotten about it decades ago, but recognised it with ease now that it finally came back to her. 

He dropped his hand from the back of her head to the small of her back, and a tremor ran through her body when he trailed a finger up her spine. In the meantime, he began to move them towards the edge of the pool. By then his tongue had found a nipple, and now it was Gwen’s turn to grab a fistful of hair, a moan escaping her mouth. She was floating on pleasure and anticipation, and a hint of fear and anxiety, but it all came crashing down when she felt grass against her bottom. 

Her eyes snapped open and she realised Iorveth had placed her on the edge of the pool, nestling himself between her legs. He moved his mouth back up her body, nipping at her lips, but he stopped when he realised his partner had stopped reciprocating.

When he looked up, he must have seen the look in her eyes, for he quickly took a step back and she pressed her legs together again. Now that the water no longer protected her from his sight, her face burned in shame, a hand reaching down between her legs in order to hide the patch of hair. As a half-elf, she was hairier than the fairer race, and for sure someone like Iorveth would despise something so very human. 

As if to prove her wrong, the Scoia’tael leader raised his brows and moved forward again, replacing her hand with his own and brushing a finger through the curls there. The barest hint of a grin was visible, but before she could take in the sight of it, Iorveth had already pushed her over with his other hand, his mouth upon hers once more. He moved slower and more gentle, waiting for permission. His nose brushed against hers as he tilted his head to the side. 

Tentative, she slid her tongue past his lips and caressed his. She enjoyed the feeling of control he gave her in that moment, something she had never experienced before. And the fact that it was none other than Iorveth himself… A moan passed her lips, and she felt the elf smirk into the kiss. 

They found a rhythm, just like the waves of the sea that never stopped rolling across the sand before sliding away, only to come back in again. They certainly kissed each other like they were sea and land, the one needing the other more than anything else. It was only natural for them to keep coming back together, to seek each other out, as if the moon egged them on.

Without thinking, Gwen lifted her hips and pressed her pelvis into the unmoving hand that rested. Something between her legs began to throb; it burned and hurt and at the same it felt oh so good. All her life, the half-elf had thought that sex was underwhelming, completely different from what everyone had told her. Could it be that she had simply never been truly aroused before? 

Iorveth did not miss the shift, and he chuckled deeply after tearing his mouth away from hers. The sound sent a wave of pleasure rolling through her, and, without thinking, she repeated the movement.

“I do not think it wise—”

But Gwen did not want to hear it, and so she smashed her lips against his once more. Her fingers grasped strands of his hair, and she rested her other hand upon his, pressing it harder against her skin. The sensation that followed tore a groan from her throat, and she quickly turned her head to the side as she felt her face flush in both arousal and embarrassment. 

“Have you never…?” For once, surprise was visible in Iorveth’s eye.

“I have,” Gwen murmured as she pressed her forehead to his. After Elric, she had slept with various other men, some more attentive to her needs than others. However, even the last time she had simply pleasured herself seemed to have been in a past life. “But I can’t even remember when the last time was.”

And even then, she had never felt like _this_ with anybody. Like her entire body might combust any moment now. Like every touch caused a shock to run beneath her skin. Like something was trying to claw its way out of her, manifesting itself in the moans that escaped her mouth. But that was not something she would tell him. 

Ever so slowly, without tearing his gaze from hers, the elf began to move his hand farther down, until they found that bundle of nerves nestled between her folds. Gwen then dropped both of her arms to the ground, nails digging into the moist earth beneath her. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop the string of sounds threatening to leave her mouth, but Iorveth seemed adamant to do all he could to drag it out anyway. 

He pressed a kiss, almost tender, to her forehead, while at the same time adding pressure to her clit. Slowly, he began to draw circles around it. By watching every twitch, every move in her body, he found the perfect rhythm and the perfect amount of weight, effectively turning the half-elf into an incoherent mess.

Suddenly she felt his member brush against her hip, and she tensed and shied away from him, her mind torn between enjoying the moment and ruining it. But just as suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared, and Iorveth muttered a soft apology before he continued his ministrations. When she looked, Gwen saw that he had ‘tucked’ his penis away as best as he could. The sight of it caused her stomach to twist, but before she could panic, rough fingers forced her to stare into green. 

“Nothing will happen if you do not wish it to,” he said. 

The fingers of his other hand slid lower still, away from the nerves and closer to her opening, and the faintest hint of a smile graced his face when her breath hitched in her throat. He raised a brow and tilted his head ever so slightly. Asking for permission. His words had set her at ease once more, and so she inhaled sharply and nodded, anticipation filling her instead. 

With that, he slipped one finger inside of her, stroking her inner walls. Though the feeling itself wasn’t as pleasurable as his rubbing her clit had been, the sensation stirred something else inside of her. Something warm, something intimate. She wondered if it could be love, but before she could think any more, the elf had already added a second finger to the first, and he curled them. He pressed them against the front of her wall, and Gwen gasped, arching her back. Her heaving chest brushed against Iorveth’s, and a low rumble erupted from his chest. 

While his hand continued to slip out and back into her, gathering the wetness that pooled there and occasionally sliding up to circle her bundle of nerves before entering her again, he used his other hand to push her fully onto her back. She went down with him, her legs still in the water, and, without breaking contact, he climbed out of the pool to lie beside her. 

He rested on an elbow and leaned over her, bending down to capture her lips in another kiss. A jolt ran through her jaw at the contact, and she released her grip on the soil to clutch at the back of his head. She pulled him closer, her tongue lashing out at his, trying to coil around it, even as she moaned at every move he made.

Through half-lidded eyes she saw him watching her intently, and for the umpteenth time, she felt heat rush to her face and she wanted to turn away. Before she could, however, he jerked his thumb across her clit even while his forefinger and middle finger filled her. When she let out a yelp, breaking the kiss anyway in order to arch her back at the immeasurable amount of pleasure flooding her, he added his ring finger as well and heightened the tempo of his fingers. His teeth caught one of her nipples and he began to suckle on the puckered flesh. She responded by whimpering and she turned her face to the side, covering her closed eyes with a hand as if to hide her shame. 

For a while now, a burning heat had begun to coil somewhere deep with her, winding itself tighter with every move the elf made. The tauter it became, the louder the noises that tore themselves from her throat were. The hand covering her face shot out, reaching down, grasping blindly and finding Iorveth’s member – hard and warm and waiting for her – she wrapped her fingers around it. 

“Do—” Iorveth began, but she pumped once, twice, and the rest of his sentence came out in the form of a choked groan.

Gwen found that the sound of the man’s pleasure only added to that of her own, the throbbing between her legs magnifying itself and working its way down her legs, to the tips of her toes. And so, before he could protest again, she continued her ministrations, moving her hand up and down his length along to the rhythm of his fingers inside of her. 

Their groans filled the air together, entwined into a duet of pure, unadulterated love. Iorveth interrupted with a swear, and suddenly he bucked into her hand. Gwen quickly used her other hand to pull him down and to give him a tight-lipped kiss, his mouth trembling against hers. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of the commander coming undone at her touch, his eye nothing more than a slit as he stared down at her, almost apologetic. And that was all she needed to burst. 

She cried out, and Iorveth plunged his tongue into her mouth while she broke apart at the seams. Her hands grasped at his shoulders and she dug her nails into them, desperate breaths leaving through her nose. The sound of Iorveth panting in her ear only egged her on, though she had no idea when he had broken the kiss to embrace her. The warmth enveloping her inside and out only strengthened the tremors racing through her body, causing her limbs to twitch, her toes to curl, her throat to produce unimaginable sounds.

When finally, and at the same time far too soon, her climax waned, she relaxed in Iorveth’s hold and lay there, limp and breathing heavily. It was then that she noted their bodies were covered in sweat, their skins clinging to each other as if even they were reluctant to let go. While she waited for the elf to release her, she continued to cling to his shoulders. Iorveth let go of her only when their hearts had calmed down and their breathing was once more somewhat regular. 

The first thing Gwen noticed was his seed, which clung to her leg as if knowing she was the only way they might have a chance at life. 

“Squass’me,” Iorveth said in a soft voice, sitting up on his haunches. “You did not have to do that.”

“I know.” The half-elf shifted on the spot, feeling self-conscious again now that the lust had disappeared. In fact, now that the lust was gone, she could only wonder what in the name of the Goddess she had done. “But it felt… right. Eventually.”

Iorveth inspected her for a few moments, as if gauging the truth behind her words. When he was satisfied, he closed his eye and exhaled slowly. Then, a small smile spread across his lips. “Am I wrong to assume that you have never had someone treat you like that before?” 

In the blink of an eye, the half-elf had flung herself into the pool, keeping her head under water. Maybe this way he wouldn’t see the redness of her cheeks which even reached her neck this time, but going by the muffled laughter she could hear, he probably knew anyway. Without surfacing, she stared at her hand – the hand she had used to pleasure Iorveth – and a million questions flitted through her mind. 

Was this the first step towards something more? What exactly were they after this? Would everything change now? What were his feelings towards her? What were _her_ feelings towards _him_? 

But most importantly: could she ever trust again? Would she ever be able to fall in love and offer herself to someone else, unconditionally, once more? 

Balling her hand into a fist, Gwen realised that there was only one way to find out. From here on out, she would simply have to move forward. 

Hands grasped her by her arms and pulled her above water, and she found herself face to scarred face with the elf. And for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to hope, even if it was just a tiny little bit.


	21. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist falls ill and relives parts of a long-forgotten past, and shares them with a dear friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone who had taken the time to review the previous chapter from the bottom of my heart! I had been struggling with it and worried about its quality, and you guys came forward with such feedback that I almost felt like exploding. So once again, thank you all very much for your support! 
> 
> The chapter title comes from the song "Flying High Falling Love" by Walking on Cars.

Gwen couldn’t remember much of what happened afterwards. She had lain on the ground like that, staring at the tree tops that towered above her from all sides through half-lidded eyes, her mind blank. Iorveth had set out to clean his armour, after which he had blocked her view by leaning over her, fully clothed. 

“I must head back now. We shall speak of this at a later time. For now, the others must not suspect a thing,” he had said before leaving, his armour clinking as he went. 

She thought that she had nodded, but thinking back, she did not know for sure how she had reacted. Sometime later, she arrived at the camp wearing her leggings and tunic, carrying the rest of her cleaned clothes in her arms. She dumped them in her tent before heading towards the wounded elves. 

Ivor was fast asleep when the half-elf settled down next to him. She barely even registered the strands of grass that pricked into the soles of her bare feet. A piece of cloth had been placed on his forehead, and when she reached out to touch it, she felt the heat from his face. 

Cursing softly, she removed the rag and went to find some water to clean it. Ciaran stood nearby a bucket, and when she bent down to rinse the cloth in it, he watched her with narrowed eyes. She swallowed hard before looking at him with a blank face, silently challenging him, but he soon clicked his tongue and looked away.

“Has Ivor fallen ill?” she asked as she straightened his back. 

“Seems that way,” Ciaran replied without meeting her gaze. “Though his wounds are not infected.”

The half-elf knitted her brows but said nothing. With the wet rag, drops of water running down her fingers and onto the ground, she made her way back to Ivor’s side. She tried her best not to disturb the elf as she placed it on his forehead again, suddenly noting the way his cheeks flushed. 

Feeling more than just a little guilty, she feared that she had made him sick, just like Aderyn had warned her. But she knew that there was naught she could do except wait, hoping it would be over soon. 

While she sat there, her thoughts went back to Iorveth. At that, her heart beat against her ribcage like it were a drum. If she stared long enough, she could see her chest jerk ever so slightly whenever it did. When she closed her eyes, she saw him hanging above her, the empty socket that intrigued her as much as it angered her for all the world to see. 

He had said that they would discuss what had happened. Back then, she hadn’t been conscious enough to realise the depth of his words. Now, however, they instilled terror within her, as well as the fear that he would betray her. As Elric had. But why would she compare Iorveth to him to begin with? Elric had been her life companion, her husband. The father of her child. Iorveth, on the other hand, was… Well, what _was_ Iorveth to her? And what was she to Iorveth? 

The half-elf sighed, realising that she would not be able to answer those questions on her own. She knew that, to her, Iorveth was more than she had thought he could become. He was more than she had thought _anybody_ could become. Perhaps he was more than he should have become, too. Yet here she was, after having shared a most intimate moment with the man. One she hadn’t even had with the person who had once been the love of her life. 

Though while that man had left her after stringing her along and had long since died, this man still stood beside her after catching glimpses of who she was. Who had shown her a side of himself which she presumed not many others had seen. But she did not want to seem arrogant, or have her heart broken yet again, and so she would have to wait until Iorveth was ready to talk before coming to conclusions.

~~~~

Three days later found Gwen still sitting next to Ivor. The latter had awoken several times, and they had even exchanged a couple of words. The unfamiliarity of the guilt and worry she felt made it impossible for her to concentrate on anything at all, and so she refused to leave him. To compensate for the lack of her presence in the kitchen, she took care of the wounded by making sure she followed whatever orders were given to her. That meant she made sure that her charges received fresh bandages at least once a day, food thrice a day, and water whenever they asked for it.

“What are you doing?” Ivor asked her that afternoon. His strength had begun to return, and he was able to sit without receiving any help.

“As you may have been able to notice,” Gwen replied with a roll of her eyes as she unwound the bandage around his torso, “I am taking care of the wounded.”

“I can see that,” the elf said, chuckling. “But _why_ are you doing this?”

She couldn’t help herself when her hands stilled, though she quickly went on with her task, hoping he hadn’t noticed. He had, of course, and he lifted a hand to capture hers, forcing her to meet his gaze. His pitiful hold on her was enough to indicate he still had quite some recovering to do.

What was she supposed to say? That she thought it was her fault he had gotten ill to begin with? That she feared he might suddenly die, because he still wasn’t quite out of any danger zones? That she saw him as a friend and that the last thing she wanted was for his condition to worsen? 

In the end, she said nothing at all, but Ivor did not push her. Perhaps he had simply read her thoughts, for a small smile adorned his face as he released her and watched her finish her task. 

Exhaling at the sight of the long gash that covered his torso, starting at his right shoulder and ending near his left hip, she allowed herself a grin as well. “It still isn’t infected. In fact, it looks like it’s slowly starting to heal.” 

The skin surrounding the cut itself was discoloured and bruised enough as it was. The crude stitches that held the edges of the wound together did nothing to help with the sight, making for angry marks wherever the thread pierced the skin. Still, it looked less dark than it had the day before. And though his face was still warm to the touch, the redness of his cheeks had lessened. 

She quickly dressed his wound again, a peculiar sense of light-headedness filling her. Gwen could only describe this feeling as _relief_. 

“Ah,” Ivor breathed as he laid himself down again. “So that’s why you’re still here.”

Feeling betrayed by her human blood, the half-elf grimaced and pushed herself off the ground before he could start teasing her. Even before she had straightened her back, however, a bright light filled her vision, and the sensation of her body falling to the ground assailed her. She placed her hands on her knees and managed to stay upright. 

“Are you all right?!” Ivor called out, his voice sounding as though he were standing at the other side of the forest. 

The spell passed as soon as it appeared. When Gwen opened her eyes, she saw that Ivor had all but stumbled out of his nest of blankets, his hand on her arm. As if the meagre strength his body still possessed would have stopped her from toppling over.

“Wow,” she muttered as she stood up again, passing a hand over her face, “that was weird.”

Only then did she notice two other elves who shared nurse-duties with her standing next to her, their brows furrowed and arms ready to catch her should she fall. Heat caused her face to flush, and she laughed uneasily. 

“Ah, I’m… I’m fine. Just a little tired, I think.” When none of them looked convinced, she gestured to a nearby tree and added, “I’ll go and rest for a bit then, if that’ll make you feel better?”

“You should,” Mervyn stated, his eyes the colour of wolfsbane mirroring none of the amusement the half-elf had displayed in her embarrassment. 

Senan nodded in agreement, strands of his long, blonde hair falling in front of his face as he did so. 

“All right, all right, I’m going…” Gwen muttered as she made her way towards the trunk she had waved at.

She wasn’t even half-way there when she sank to her knees, gasping for breath.

~~~~

When she awoke, it was to the heat of flames surrounding her, though she could hear none of it. Panic clawed at her throat, and she turned her head side to side, unseeing, trying to ascertain her position. Where was her mother? Where was she? Where was the fire?! Why couldn’t she…

“You’re going to be all right, Gwen. You’re going to be just fine,” a voice spoke somewhere above her. It belonged to a woman. Her mother. 

Her hand shot out and two smaller, cooler ones enveloped it. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, sliding down her temples and into her ears. 

“Modron, modron!” she wailed through the burning of her throat, the parchedness of her lips, which clung together whenever she closed her mouth. “I dreamed that you died… I killed you… Why did you send me to the market? I could have…” 

Somebody shushed her by pressing a cup to her lips, and without thinking she swallowed the water which soothed her throat. Only then did she try to open her eyes. The light blinded her and so she squinted. She saw a face – a woman’s face – hovering above hers, brown hair falling over her shoulder and brushing against the half-elf’s cheek.

Her arm relaxed as she fell unconscious once more. It slipped free from the grasp that had held onto her hand and fell to the ground beside her.

Her mother had black hair.

~~~~

The next time she opened her eyes, she found herself surrounding by bright whiteness. Something fell into her eye, and when she looked up, she saw it was snowing.

Winter in Vengerberg, she realised at once. 

“Gwenfrewi!” The sound of a man laughing neared her, and she turned just in time to see a mop of yellow hair before she was lifted into the air by a strong set of arms. The person holding her twirled her around, her feet dangling uselessly as he danced with her. “I heard from your mother. We’re going to have a baby! We’re going to have a baby!” 

Something bubbled up within her, clawed its way up her throat, tickled her at the back of her mouth, and before she knew it, a laugh passed her lips. She grinned and nodded, black bangs falling into her eyes. Passers-by stared at them, some in confusion, others in happiness, and again others in disgust. But for once, she ignored them all.

She had feared what his reaction might be. Lately, he had been prone to mood swings, and the back of his hand had become quite acquainted with the skin of her cheek. She needn’t have worried, however, for in that moment, Elric’s mesmerising blue eyes beheld her as though she were a goddess.

When he finally set her down again, she almost sank to the ground, her head swimming with dizziness. His hands grasped her elbows before she could, however, and he held her close to him. Even through the many layers of clothing they wore, she felt the heat of his body. 

“Ah, is it the morning sickness? Are you not well?” Elric asked her, worry filling his voice. 

She wanted to shake her head and nod at the same time, and instead made circles with her face still pressed into his jacket. He pulled away and placed a hand against her belly, looking at it as if he could see the child within her, growing and fighting to live. 

Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes, wanting to enjoy the peace while it lasted. The next moment, however, a jolt of pain ran right through her stomach. Opening her eyes again, she found herself standing in the kitchen of their house. Her hands grasped the counter, knuckles turning white, when the aching wouldn’t subside as it had the previous times. 

“El—” A scream tore itself from her throat, and before she knew it, Elric stood in the door opening, eyes wide. 

His entire posture relaxed when he realised what was happening. She remained tensed and on the verge of a breakdown, her breaths coming out in panicked puffs. One of her hands moved to clutch her oversized belly, felt the muscles contract beneath her touch. She opened her mouth to cry out again, but suddenly Elric was beside her, her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him. 

“Calm down,” he said, his voice the cold, assertive one she had become familiar with over the past few months. “We’ll go to the clinic right now.”

Still breathless, she nodded but remained motionless even though the contraction had subsided. 

_Run_ , a voice at the back of her mind whispered. _Don’t go with him._

But Elric was already upon her, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. She opened her mouth, wanted to ask her where her mother was, but suddenly something smacked her in the back. 

The autumn leaves crunched beneath her hands and knees as she stumbled forward. The sight of light reflecting off a metal surface caught her attention, and she snapped her head up just in time to dodge the blade that came her way. Instead, it slid beneath her chin and pricked into the soft skin of her throat.

For a moment, she thought she was looking into a mirror, dark amber eyes with speckles of yellow-brown staring into her own. Black, shoulder-length hair framed a face she had seen every time she glanced at her reflection while growing up. 

“What are you doing here?” she croaked while trying to move her mouth as little as possible. 

“My father told me I’d find you here,” he said, though his voice didn’t sound so sure. “You’ll pay for your sins, you filthy half-elf.”

“And what, pray tell, are these sins you’re talking about? You must be a bit more specific.”

“For killing my mother!” he all but screamed at her, spittle hitting her in the eye. 

The stinging was the least of her problems, however, for it felt like her insides had twisted in such a manner that she feared she might throw up. Forcing the feeling down, she allowed the corners of her lips to curve upwards instead. Slowly but surely, with her hands in her air, she got up. His trembling blade followed her as she went. “Is that what he’s been telling you all these years?”

The boy looked taken aback, lowering his sword a fraction. “W-what do you mean?”

That moment of hesitation was all she needed, and she dropped down once more, catching herself with her arms and swinging a foot against one of his legs. When his back connected with the soil beneath him, his weapon clattering to the ground, she launched herself on top of him. From within her boot she released a knife, which she pressed against his neck. He swallowed hard, the blade touching his Adam’s apple, and he trembled beneath her. She leaned forward until their noses almost touched and her breath fanned out across his face. 

“I’ll have you know, I had a lot of fun taking her life,” she whispered without breaking eye contact. “She was quite the screamer, if I do say so myself. Just wouldn’t shut up. Had to end it faster than I liked.”

By then, his teeth had begun to chatter, and she felt that he had wet himself. Adding pressure to his throat, she drew a few drops of blood that left red trails in their wake as they slid down his neck.

“Because I was just about to eat, I’ll let you go. Wouldn’t want to ruin my appetite, now would I?” She lifted the knife and licked his blood off of it, watching him squirm as she did so. “If I find you anywhere near me ever again, I won’t be so forgiving. Understood?”

He whimpered and nodded several times. Satisfied, she swung herself off him, landing on her feet beside him, and gestured for him to get lost. 

“Run along now. You wouldn’t want to keep your father waiting, now would you?” She watched him scramble to his feet in silence. When the boy had disappeared between the trees, she exhaled and sank to the ground. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper when she added, “Give him my regards.”

She opened her eyes and, stuck between the realm of the sleeping and that of the living, she murmured, “I didn’t even ask his name.”

“Whose name?” 

Gwen blinked twice before she recognised Ivor and realised what had happened. She had fallen ill and had suffered fever-induced dreams. Memories she had wanted to forget, and one she had actually managed to bury beneath the debris of her life, only to be dug out by sickness, fifty years later. Her mouth and throat were parched, and her lips stuck together as if someone had coated them in honey. “How long was I out?”

The elf frowned, and whatever inner conflict he was having marred his handsome face with lines. He coughed a few times, then he shifted in his seat and said, “I asked first.”

How unlike Ivor, who usually backed off the very moment she seemed reluctant to talk about something. Even curled up beneath a pile of scratchy blankets that smelled of earth and mud, Gwen could see his bright eyes and the conviction hidden behind them. It seemed that, the longer she hung around elves, the easier she could read them. Or perhaps they had simply stopped masking their emotions as much?

With a groan, she rolled onto her back, every fibre of her being aching. She was too tired to care. She felt empty. Numb. It was beginning to become a regular occurrence whenever she came in contact with her past. 

“My son.”

“You… you didn’t ask for your son’s name?” he asked, perplexity evident in his voice. Gwen didn’t even have to look to see that his eyes were wide, his eyebrows raised.

Through the fog that filled her mind, she told herself that she owed him at least this much. After all, he had told her about what had happened to his mother. 

“I… I had a child with a human. But the moment he was born, he was taken from me. It must have been… what? Twenty years?” Gwen frowned. “Perhaps twenty-five. He caught me by surprise. I had been in the forest near Vengerberg, near the edges, gathering herbs for my mother, who had been feeling a little under the weather.”

When she stopped, Ivor gestured for her to continue. “What happened?”

“He…” The half-elf lifted a hand and pressed it to the spot where his sword had touched her neck. “He tried to kill me. His father had raised him telling him that I had killed his mother. But the moment he saw me, he knew that wasn’t true. He looked exactly like me.”

“What did you do?” the elf asked, his voice almost too soft to hear. As if he dreaded what she would say next. 

He seemed taken aback when Gwen let out a laugh. “I told him that what his father had told him was true, that I had killed his mother. But I let him go. _Of course_ I let him go. He was my son! I told him that, the next time, I’d kill him.”

To tell the truth, though the encounter had broken the half-elf’s heart, she hadn’t felt devastated so much as betrayed. Enraged. Defeated. It had been Elric’s final victory over her, after which she had vowed that she’d never allow him to hurt her again. And so she had erased the memory from her mind and had tried to live her life as if her own son had not attempted to take her life. She never even told her mother about it. 

“And would you have? Had he found you again?” Ivor asked.

“I don’t know. I like to think not. But by now he’s dead anyway.” The half-elf scoffed just before a coughing fit racked her body. She slapped Ivor’s hand away when he moved to help her. Afterwards, she laughed again and added, “The curse of any non-human parent with a human partner, I suppose. Unless we wait a century before having children, we’re guaranteed to outlive them.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ivor said, bowing his head as if to pay respect to the dead. When he looked up again, he asked, “Inh’eids can still have children after so long?”

“Well, I… uh…” The sudden topic switch, and towards a rather embarrassing one at that, managed to snap her out of her stupor. Her cheeks burned with something other than fever. “I still bleed, so I assume that I’m still… fertile…?”

Ivor burst into laughter, throwing his head back and placing a hand on the bandage around his chest. He winced and grimaced, and coughed in between chuckles. The half-elf only stared at him, wondering if he had gone insane.

“Squass’me,” he said, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eyes, “that was a rather personal question. Still, thank you for the honest answer. Inh’eids are still very much a mystery to the Seidhe.” 

Gwen fought a smile as she glared at him. “I am glad I could help you with solving the enigma that I am.”

His grey eyes shone with mirth as he grinned at her. It was in that moment that Gwen realised that one simple, silly question had managed to drag her out of the cage she had almost shut herself in once again. Feeling peaceful, she closed her eyes and mouthed two words before slipping back into unconsciousness.

_Thank you._


	22. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist confronts the love interest. Things finally start to get serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The posting of this chapter was briefly disrupted by the sudden appearance of a bigass spider in my room. And I'm not saying bigass because I'm seriously afraid of spiders but because it was actually objectively bigass. According to procedure, I woke up my mother who grumpily took care of it. Be proud of me. 
> 
> This chapter has a lot of dramatic irony (at least, for me). Of course I'm not going to tell you what it is, but because of the stupid bigass spider I felt like taking my frustration out on others. Apologies <3 
> 
> The chapter title this time comes from two songs by Walking on Cars, 'cause I couldn't choose and they both fit perfectly: "Don't Mind Me" and "Tick Tock". For those wondering, yes, all chapter titles correspond with the (meaning of the) story.

It took Gwen a few more days before she had regained the strength to stand up again. By then, Ivor had taken on her duties as nurse, though the half-elf believed he liked it a bit too much. Especially when he force-fed her, smiling like a saint all the while, pretending not to notice the look on her face that promised certain death. Still, she’d never actually dare touch him, for his wound still bothered him. One had to be blind to miss the stiffness of the elf’s body whenever he moved, the way he tried to keep his torso as still as possible. 

After the initial period of fever and hallucinatory dreams, Gwen had spent the majority of the time lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of the piece of tent that spanned this part of the camp, bored out of her mind. At first, Ivor had kept her company, for his bedroll was close to hers, but it didn’t take long before he was up and about again, albeit slowly. Now she simply whiled away, trying her best not to fall back in the fog of memories that lurked behind her. She had but to trip and fall right into it for it to swallow her up, and she refused to remain a slave to her past any longer. After all, it would only be proof that, in the end, Elric _had_ won. 

Once she could get up without feeling like the world had turned upside down, she decided that she had wasted enough time. Though a certain elf hadn’t come to seek her out during her illness, the two of them still had things to discuss. He could he could avoid her all he wanted, but she didn’t plan on allowing anyone to play around with her ever again. If she shouldn’t expect more of him, she wanted to know it. If she could, then she wanted to know that as well.

She slipped away when everybody had turned their backs to her. Her clothes consisted of the tunic and leggings she had worn since leaving for the riverbank and must have smelled rather horrible, though her nose was far too stuffy for her to smell anything. Strands of hair clung to her face from the remains of her sweat, and her legs did not feel quite as stable as she would have liked. 

Even so, she pressed on towards Iorveth’s tent. A strange feeling bubbled up inside of her when elves asked her how she was doing, replacing the silent stares she was accustomed to. Her tongue would grow heavy whenever someone addressed her, and she would worm her way out of conversation with a lame, “Doing just fine, thanks.”

Popping her head into the commander’s tent, she was disappointed to see it was empty. A bedroll had been placed in the centre of the small space, and a couple of chests surrounded it, heavy locks fastened on each one of them. There was even a table and chair, all kinds of papers scattered across its surface. 

Narrowing her eyes, Gwen approached them and picked one up, carefully unrolling the parchment. A map of Temeria greeted her, the lands around La Valette castle marked with crossed swords and lines that divided it from the rest of the country. Unfurling another one, she recognised the land where she had been born and raised, with the same markings applied to the northern region. 

The Pontar Valley. 

Gwen hummed in confusion when she saw the circle around Vergen. What could Iorveth possibly want with a dwarven town? Then again, the half-elf hadn’t exactly paid a lot of attention to the politics of the country, especially not after leaving Vengerberg. And who knew what had happened since the death of Demavend? 

While looking over the map, her fingers tracing the intricate details, her eye caught sight of her name written on a different parchment. Before she could pick it up, however, someone entered the tent and cleared their throat. The half-elf twisted around, her head aching as she did so, and she tried to lean against the table as nonchalantly as possible.

“I doubt that entering my tent counts as being discreet,” Iorveth said before he squinted at her, his eye moving towards the table. “What have you been doing?”

“Uhm, just admiring the… these maps. They’re pretty well-done. Did you draw them yourself?” Gwen asked, quickly. Perhaps too quickly. 

Iorveth watched her for a moment before shaking his head but offering no further information. Without missing a beat, he added, “I heard you had fallen ill. Are you not supposed to be in bed?”

“About that…” The half-elf sidled up to him while he stepped further into the room. Her cheeks heated up at his close proximity. Nobody could see them like this… When she spied his fingers as he crossed his arms over his chest, she felt that tug beneath her legs. A reminder of why she had come here. “We have to talk. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” the commander muttered, looking at the ground. He, too, must have been thinking back to the moment they had shared, but he said nothing more and moved over to stand beside her. His hands fluttered across the various letters and documents that lay scattered there, but he lingered on none of them.

“Why Vergen? The Pontar Valley?” Gwen heard herself ask all of a sudden. 

The commander looked up in surprise, before his eye fell upon the unrolled map. He reached for it, as if he had forgotten what she meant. “We will be moving soon.”

“To Vergen?” When Iorveth nodded, the half-elf asked again, “Why?”

“I cannot discuss the details just yet. All I can tell you is that someone is waiting for us there. She is depending on us, and she will help us further our cause.”

For half a moment, Gwen wanted to ask what, exactly, their cause was to begin with. Who was ‘she’? And why was ‘she’ waiting for them? The only ‘she’ she could think of so quickly was Francesca Findabair, but Dol Blathanna was nowhere near Vergen. But then she saw the intensity with which Iorveth stared at her, waited for her response, and something clicked. 

Gwen suddenly grabbed his wrist. Though her grip was not yet strong enough to overpower him, he tensed anyway. Glowering at the elf, she snapped, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare distract me!”

The tone of her voice must have awoken something within him, for he flung his arms to the side, almost hitting her in the process. Trying his best to keep his voice low, he hissed, “What do you want from me? To declare my eternal love for you? That I wish to have children with you and grow old with you?”

“It’d make for a great start,” the half-elf spat and threw her hands in the air, half wondering what they were even doing all of a sudden. “I want to know what I can expect from you. I _must_ know.” 

He stared at her, his green eye fixed on her as though he had come across a puzzle that needed solving. Perhaps he had suddenly remembered all the emotional baggage that came with her, though he had seemed quite aware of it when he had had his fingers instead of his dick inside of her. But it wasn’t as if _he_ didn’t have any residues from his past clinging to him.

“Hey,” Gwen murmured. Her anger abated, and she found herself reaching out to press her palm against his cheek, thumb moving along the marred skin above his lip. She _was_ a rather difficult person to be around, after all. “What do _you_ want?”

The commander didn’t respond at once, and instead he closed his eyes. Contemplating. In the silence, the noise from outside filtered into the tent. Elves going about their business, shouting commands and greetings at each other, asking questions and giving answers. A soft breeze pushed and pulled the boughs, rustling their leaves, and a few birds dared to get close enough to let the elves hear their songs. 

When he spoke, his voice startled her with its soft, almost gentle tone. “I wish to call you by your proper name. I wish to erase all the marks of another man from your soul. I wish your fingers stopped seeking sharp objects whenever you face difficulties.” He hesitated for a heartbeat before adding, “I wish you would take better care of yourself, and I wish to do so in your stead when you are incapable of that yourself.”

All the times she had spent thinking about this elf, she had never dreamt that he might say such things. Especially not after how he had insulted her the last time she had tried to lay her feelings bare. And now that he had, she couldn’t believe the trembling of her body at the thought of starting something like this again. She only just now realised that doing so meant giving another the power to ruin her once more. When it came to Iorveth, she hadn’t expected any commitment from him. If he had simply used her for his pleasure, they would have been able to keep a certain amount of distance between the two of them. But this, this was… Attachment. Vulnerability. 

Hope.

A flash from her dream returned to her, and she thought back to the sight of her son before her, disbelief and horror etched on his face. With this, she would give another the chance of repeating such an act. If it had almost destroyed her last time, then what would be left of her the next time she found herself in such a situation?

When she saw Iorveth, the eye he had focussed on her slightly widened, she realised she had spoken her thoughts out loud. The look on his face, whatever she might have called it, quickly disappeared and was replaced by something else. Disgust, perhaps. 

“Then I suppose it is a good thing that I am most likely no longer able to impregnate you,” he said. Gwen knew that if Elric were alive in that moment, he wouldn’t have been for much longer. 

Having gotten that off her chest, albeit unconsciously, made her feel better. Still, she knew not what to say in response. While she stood there, motionless, the anger ebbed away from Iorveth’s features and he backed away from her, his hands lifted into the air. As though she were a caged animal which needed its space. She couldn’t deny that that might have been how she felt in that moment. 

“There is no need to rush,” the leader added, his tone softer now. “I know what it means to trust again. What it takes. Furthermore, none of the others must know about this.”

The half-elf’s shoulders, which she hadn’t even noticed she had hunched, slumped as the tenseness of her body disappeared like leaves with an autumn gust. Slowly, she bobbed her head once, ashamed all of a sudden. She had been the one to push for answers, when she might not have been ready for them to begin with. She had asked him what he wanted, but had forgotten to ask herself the same.

“And now what?” Gwen whispered as she scratched her cheek.

“And now I must go back to my duties as commander,” Iorveth replied, his lips forming a smirk. “You did not forget that you will have to share me with the rest of the camp, did you?”

Her face turned bright red, and she strode out of the tent. When she passed him, though he couldn’t have missed the small smile on her face, she muttered, “Asshole.”

When she stood outside, she almost feared that everyone would stare at her, but she was surprised to see that nobody even seemed to notice her. They all went about their business, offering her looks and words in greeting, but nothing to signal suspicion. Unsure of what to do with herself, she made her way back to Ivor and her bedroll, feeling strangely weightless. 

At least now she had answers. She knew what she could expect from the commander. From Iorveth. And he knew one more detail about her, too. Perhaps by the end of her lifetime she might have shared all of them with him, and mayhap she will have gotten to hear a few of his in return.

After living half her life on her own without a partner, it seemed surreal to suddenly have someone standing by her side again. Once the realisation had sunk in, she almost felt giddy at the thought.

Ivor was waiting for her, raised brow and crossed arms and all. 

Even before he opened his mouth, the half-elf had begun to defend herself. “I, uhm, I went to see Iorveth. Because I had to speak to him about… something.”

“’Something’. Right. Well then, I hope your negotiations about ‘something’ went how you wanted them to go,” Ivor responded, trying and failing to hide a grin. 

“To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure,” Gwen said. She might as well give him part of the truth. “But… I suppose it’s a start.” 

Ivor looked slightly confused, but said nothing as he watched her sit on top of her bedroll, legs crossed. She placed her hands, palm facing upwards, on her knees and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. 

The initial feelings of attraction had been there – and they still were. And Iorveth could be a decent person, if one got to know him. If one hadn’t somehow gotten on his bad side. After all, he had made it obvious that he wouldn’t force her into anything. Better yet, he had already proven that he wouldn’t. Now she would just have to gradually get used to being able to rely on someone else again. 

Those thoughts managed calm her down somewhat. But when the overwhelming feeling of unsureness had dissipated, excitement that was more befitting of a teenager suffering from raging hormones washed over her. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, finally allowing herself to release those bees that had been buzzing about inside of her for a while now.

With a laugh, she let herself topple backwards, her legs still crossed. 

When she opened her eyes, Ivor was staring down at her, now with both delicate brows raised. “Are you… feeling all right? Do you still have a fever?”

He reached a hand towards her, but she swatted it away. “Most likely. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Something flickered across Ivor’s face, his normally bright grey eyes darkening ever so slightly. Crouching down beside her, he asked, “Iorveth… He didn’t… do anything to you, did he?”

She should have felt guilty for misleading the poor man like this. But for the first time in ages, she felt like laughing and teasing and joking. She wanted to deflect the serious look on his face before it once more infected her too.

And so instead of reassuring the elf, she grinned and said, “I suppose you could say so.”

Cheeks flushed, the half-elf burrowed herself beneath her blankets. She wondered what she would tell Ivor once she came to her senses. But for now, for a short while, she would allow herself to let go of all her worries and her burdens, and enjoy this sensation that was threatening to cause her insides to melt. 

With all the hatred and sadness that had taken up much of the latter half her life, she had completely forgotten what love could feel like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm once again not quite sure about this chapter. Is anybody unexplainably OOC? Please do tell!


	23. Illusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist has become disillusioned by her relationship with the love interest. Tensions arise. (Seriously though, what did you expect?) A new character appears!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not posting last week! Especially since uni will be starting again next week. I still have a few chapters waiting to be proofread, but I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep up the weekly updates. I'd also like to mention that, from here on out, the timeline will diverge slightly from the canon in-game timeline. Since even the actual canon timeline doesn't make a lot of sense, and to fit the purposes of this story, I hope you all can forgive me for that. Anyway, enjoy~ I hope this chapter doesn't feel as rushed for my dear readers as it does for me.
> 
> The song "Illusion" belongs to Modern Day Babylon.

“Iorveth!” someone called out as they ran towards the commander. Once the elf reached him, he doubled over and rested his hands on his knees, his shoulder heaving as he panted. Nothing but incoherent words left his lips as he tried to catch his breath.

Iorveth, who had been giving a group of elves – Gwen included – tasks for the next few hours, turned around at the commotion. “What is it?”

“C-Ciaran…” the elf began. He coughed a few times, then inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I-I believe… Ciaran has been ambushed. By the dh’oines.” 

Murmurs went through the Scoia’tael who had gathered around Iorveth. Ever in control of the situation, the commander at once asked, “How do you know of this?”

Gesturing in the general direction of Flotsam with a trembling hand, the other said, “At… Cáelmewedd… I found his unit… But Ciaran himself was… gone?” 

“Gone?” Iorveth echoed with a frown. 

“Yes, gone. I checked for survivors, and then I came upon… traces of another body, which had been removed.” The elf lowered his eyes. “None of his squad survived.”

The commander cursed and swung a fist through the air. Then he paused and, turning back to the elf, asked, “And how do you know Ciaran did not survive and leave the scene before you arrived?”

“Well…” He swallowed. “The marks, that is, the blood, it leads towards Flotsam. Why would Ciaran want to go to Flotsam when he’s wounded?”

Staring at the ground for a few moments, Iorveth remained silent, probably contemplating the situation. Then he nodded before directing his attention towards the elves behind him once more. 

“For now, this changes nothing for you lot. If Ciaran still lives, the dh’oines will have taken him to their prison barge, but we shall get to that soon enough. For now, while I formulate a plan, everything will remain as it was.” And with that, he dismissed his subordinates. 

Gwen, however, remained behind, closing the distance between them with a few steps. Her brows dipped into an angry, confused frown. “You don’t believe that, do you? That he was ambushed by a group of dh’oines? It’s _Ciaran_!”

“Our relationship does not give you the right to question me, Gwenfrewi,” Iorveth snapped. When the half-elf maintained her glare without flinching, his posture softened and his shoulders slumped as he sighed. “But you are right. I doubt Ciaran would be bested so easily by a group of dh’oines. Let alone at Cáelmewedd…” He looked off into the distance, his gaze unfocussed. “We have nothing else to go on, however, so for now, this is how it is.”

And with that, the unit leader turned on his heel and left, the sound of his armour shifting fading away as he disappeared. 

As it turned out, it was far more difficult than Gwen had thought it would be to keep her private life with Iorveth separated from their public relationship. 

He would call her by her full name as he had always done when he didn’t simply refer to her as ‘the inh’eid’, and she would pretend to be disgusted. In the beginning, she _had_ been, his voice intermingling with Elric’s whenever he addressed her with that name. But after a few days, that melted away, only to make way for a warmth that would spread out throughout her body whenever Iorveth curled his tongue around that word. 

Once in a while, she would slip into his tent under the pretence of ‘tactical discussions’. He had revealed his plans to send a unit to the Pontar Valley together with two of the vatt’ghern’s colleagues, and that, soon, they would join a battle... Though which battle he meant, he never said. Either way, after that, her hailing from Aedirn was enough reason for her to visit his tent on a regular basis, despite the fact that she knew as much as any of them did. Iorveth continued to debate the situation with the rest, minus Ciaran, always pretending some of what he had to say came from her. It seemed that he was willing to swallow his pride for the precious moments they shared when nobody was looking. 

In the meantime, small units of elves were sent towards Flotsam in order to keep an eye on the situation. If possible, they were to gather information, though they had to remain within the forest at all times. Gwen had offered herself for this task as well, but Iorveth had claimed that he needed her for hunting rather than scouting. The half-elf had no idea whether she should see that as an insult or a compliment. 

Slowly but surely, Gwen once more got used to the intimate actions between lovers, but this time in a manner that was wholly unfamiliar to her. Where before, she would have shrunk away from the rough hands touching her, as if that would get them to leave her be. But now, she would move into the touch of those hands. She would reciprocate instead of suffer. 

Her memories were being rewritten, like someone scratching through a sentence on a piece of parchment and replacing it with different words. All that she had associated with fear and pain she began to experience with passion and lust. All she had known was replaced by Iorveth, with Iorveth. 

And as he had promised, they stuck to her pace. Sometimes they would take a step further, other times they would regress. Either way, Gwen began to become acquainted with the male body whenever she felt ready for it. 

On the other hand, some things remained exactly the same. They would continue to pick fights with each other. When not drinking in the touch of each other, they were like elf and human – complete opposites. Or perhaps they were just what they were: elf and inh’eid, so very similar with a tad too many differences to get along. 

Her fidgety, nervous disposition – tugging at her ears, her hair, still wanting to cover up the dh’oine blood within – annoyed him to no end. In turn, his racist views towards humans egged her on to continue pointing out the flaws of elves. He still could not believe she hadn’t had even the tiniest advantage growing up as the daughter of a king, she couldn’t believe that he still believed that. 

Fortunately, they had their calm moments as well, in which they had proper, mature conversations, where they treated each other with respect. 

All in all, the others in the camp did not notice anything had changed.

The calm could not remain for long, however. Though a squad had already departed for the Pontar Valley, Gwen had only known a handful of elves who had left, and so the illusion of inactivity and peace remained. At times, it became easy to forget who they were, _what_ they were, and why they were in a place like this to begin with. Spending time with people she considered her friends, Gwen could pretend that, at least for a short while, everything was all right. 

Iorveth shattered the dream when he swept through the camp, gesturing wildly and shouting as he waltzed past his subordinates, in the direction of the riverbank where they had fought over a week ago. As he went, he cited a list of names, told them to gear up and follow him at once.

Though Gwen and Brigid, who happened to be nearby at the moment, hadn’t been called, they moved alongside the commander anyway, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“What’s going on?” Gwen managed in between huffs as she jogged after the man. 

“Has something happened?” Brigid added, worry lacing her words. For such a small person she seemed to be having little to no trouble following Iorveth. 

The elf glanced at the two of them over his shoulder before directing his gaze in front of him again. “We have visitors, and I’ll be damned if I’m not there to greet them properly.” 

And with that, he left the vicinity of the camp and disappeared into the forest.

The buzz which his words had created filled the silence left by the commander’s absence, people talking animatedly about what this could possibly mean. 

“Do you think there’s a large monster somewhere out there?” one asked. “Perhaps Iorveth plans on taking it down.”

“What if Flotsam has some kind of attack prepared?” another added.

“Do you really think the dh’oines have found our camp undetected?” a third elf responded. 

“Could it be that Cedric has finally called, and is need of our help?” yet another elf wondered out loud.

“In that case we should have joined the commander!”

Whatever the case, it must have been something big to trigger Iorveth in such a way. Gwen almost could have described him as being excited, which conjured a strange image in her mind. All they could do, however, was wait for them to return with news and confirmation as to what was actually going on. In the meantime, Gwen and Brigid went back to the kitchen.

Nobody really got any work done though, for none of them could stop thinking about Iorveth. 

“Do you think this has anything to do with that battle Iorveth mentioned?” a woman asked her friend just as Gwen and Brigid passed them by while making their way towards the kitchen.

“You mean the one in Upper Aedirn?”

“Yes. The one he has been so secretive about.”

“Who knows. I wonder why he hasn’t told us anything else.”

With a frown, Gwen began to wonder the same. The fact that he hadn’t given them any details about this fight in Aedirn annoyed her to no end. Then again, just because they were… _something_ , didn’t mean he would start treating her differently. 

Much sooner than expected, noise exploded and spread throughout the entire camp. 

“They have returned!” someone called out.

“There are wounded amongst them!” 

“ _Most_ are wounded!”

Elves began to run past the kitchen, many carrying supplies such as bandages. Gwen and Brigid frowned at each other before they followed the stream of people, back to the section where the wounded were being taken. Since the return of the La Valette squad, the number of hurt had begun to dwindle, but now the empty beds were filling up again. 

The half-elf and her friend said nothing as they passed them, ignoring the sound of people groaning and shouting. Many of them spoke about a vatt’ghern and a mage. Also the commander of the Blue Stripes was mentioned, and though Gwen did not hail from Temeria and thus knew little about their military, she had heard of them. What was he doing here? With a vatt’ghern and a mage to boot?

Gwen’s breath caught in her throat. They must have found out about the Scoia’tael’s connection to Foltest’s death and were here to find the murderer. But how? Wasn’t the unit supposed to cover their trail?

It wasn’t difficult to find the unit leader, who stood fuming with his hands on his hips as he stared hard at Ivor. After Ciaran’s… ‘ambush’, he had taken in the spot of the commander’s right-hand man once he was well enough to walk about again. Now, however, he looked almost as bad as when he had returned from the castle. 

“What _happened_?” Gwen exclaimed when she stood beside them, with Brigid trailing somewhere behind her.

Iorveth looked at her. The emptiness in his eye, despite the anger the rest of his body held, told the half-elf more than enough.

“I have no time for your meddling, _woman_ ,” the commander snapped as he made a diagonal slash with his hand, as though cutting the air. As though shooing her away, as though she were a beggar and had asked him to spare a coin. As though she were _vermin_.

The rage in his voice and actions took Gwen aback. After the closeness they had garnered in the past few days, it surprised her to hear him raise his voice like this. Especially when directed at her. Many had approached her like this in the past, and she had sworn she wouldn’t let it slide anymore. 

At a surprisingly fast rate, ire seeped into every part of her body, mirroring that of Iorveth. Anger at herself, for having somehow believed she would be treated in a different manner now. Anger at Iorveth, for acting like nothing had happened between them, even when surrounded only by friends. 

Despite all that coursing through her, and without thinking that perhaps she was overreacting, Gwen lifted the ends of an invisible dress and curtsied like she had learned to do at the castle in Vengerberg, back when she had still been welcome there. She tilted her head just so, a stiff smile carved into her face as she stared at Iorveth with hollow eyes. Even when the elf shuddered visibly, her mask did not crack. At court, that would have meant certain death. She could not ever show the impurity of her elven blood in the company of human nobles. 

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” She turned, her back straight, and strode away from the elves, feeling more alienated than ever. 

Brigid called her name out a few times. The syllable fell from her lips like a gasp as she began to follow the half-elf. When she didn’t respond, the elf gave up, leaving Gwen on her own. For that, she was grateful. Without stopping to watch the wounded soldiers getting patched up, she wove her way around tree trunks to retrieve her weapons at her tent. 

Holding the bow in her hand, she remembered she still had to return it to Owain, as well as the blade. She hadn’t seen him since the return of the La Valette squad. There hadn’t been any time for training of sparring since then. 

As she made a note to herself to visit the old man sometime soon, she slung the bow’s holster across her shoulder and bound the sword’s sheathe around her waist. Trying to stay out of sight as much as possible, she made her way out of the camp. The sound of her heart beating in her ears drowned out the noises of the elves murmuring and shouting. At the edge of the territory, she climbed into a tree and continued the rest of the way through the branches, barefoot. 

She had gotten careless and arrogant. They had avoided each other as much as possible these few days, at least in public, for this very reason. And for some reason she had believed that her friends could know about what went on between the two of them…

Shaking her head, Gwen forced all thoughts from her head as she concentrated on getting deeper into the forest. She would kill a few nekkers, or maybe some rabbits, until she had calmed down. Then she would return with a clear mind, and apologise to Iorveth. Maybe. 

At least, that was what she had planned. Before she could get much farther, a flash of white caught her eye, and she stood still behind a trunk, still high in the branches. She held her breath and squinted as she focussed. 

A man sauntered through the forest, pushing the leaves from bushes out of his way with a thick arm. He was covered in armour from crown to toe, and two sheathes with swords rested against his back. What could a dh’oine need two blades for? What was a dh’oine doing in these parts, to begin with? 

From the way he made his way through the tall grass, Gwen could tell that he was either stupid and knew nothing of the dangers of this forest, or he was simply arrogant.

She remained invisible, using the leaves to hide herself, willing the human to move faster. He was taking his sweet time picking up herbs and the like, and with every passing moment the half-elf felt her agitation rise once more. Her fingers twitched. Perhaps she should just aim for the dh’oine instead…

Suddenly the man turned. His long white hair fell over his shoulder as bright eyes cut her way, and Gwen’s heart almost stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands curled into fists. She told herself that it was impossible for him to have noticed her presence, not with how quiet she had been. 

“I know you’re there,” a calm, deep voice called from below. It sounded so confident that, in the blink of an eye, Gwen knew he had the upper hand in this confrontation. And so did he. “Show yourself.”

In that moment, Gwen knew this man couldn’t be a simple dh’oine. She could have turned around and fled, and she’d never have seen him again. No, she _should_ have turned away. But her anger at Iorveth still coursed through her veins, emboldening her, and so instead of doing that, she lowered herself to one of the branches below. Though the leaves kept her out of sight until she was close enough to the ground to examine the man’s features, his gaze followed her all the way. 

Gwen realised that his eyes weren’t just bright, but gold. Just like the vatt’ghern’s. That explained why he had noticed her so easily. A scar ran through his left eye, and a shorter one adorned the right side of his forehead. His long, white hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he looked like he had shaved recently, but not recently enough. Gwen tried to gauge his age, but had no idea what it might be. For some reason he simply seemed _old_.

“What are you doing in our forest?” the half-elf demanded, looking down on the vatt’ghern and placing her hands on her hips. Though this man didn’t look as strong as the one at their camp did, he could still probably kill her as though she were nothing more than a mere insect to him. 

The vatt’ghern looked this way and that, as if searching for something. “Apologies. I must have missed the sign stating that this land is off-limits.” 

His answer reminded her of how she had met Iorveth, and for a moment she was surprised by the memory. How everything had changed since then. To think she had fallen for the man who had taken her prisoner back then. Something must have been wrong with her… But then again, with what she had experienced, would that surprise anybody? 

“What is a Squirrel doing out here all by itself?” the vatt’ghern asked as his hand inched closer to one of his swords. “You’d think you’d have learned your lesson after what happened a few hours ago.”

Gwen frowned and relaxed her limbs, and the vatt’ghern followed suit. If Iorveth wouldn’t tell her what had happened, perhaps this man would. “What do you mean? What happened a few hours ago?” 

“You do not know?” The vatt’ghern raised a brow and gestured with his hands. He did not believe her, she realised. 

“The commander would not tell me.”

The stranger inspected her in silence for a short while. Then he said, “Then it is not my place to tell you of it.” 

…of all the men one could come across here in the wildness, and Gwen obviously had to find the one with an ounce of politeness. With a sigh, she sat down on the branch she had been standing on, and swung her legs beneath her. 

“And I suppose if I ask you what you’re doing out here, you won’t answer me either, will you?” 

The man looked her over once more, as if he hadn’t already memorised her appearance. Then, suddenly, he let out a breath, and nodded as if to himself. “Ah. You’re a half-elf.”

“What?” Gwen’s feet stilled, and she tugged at her hair, wishing it were long enough to cover her ears again. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“The fact that you’re not trying to kill me. That we’re almost having a pleasant conversation instead,” came the response. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Gwen gave him a blank look. After spending months surrounded by elves, she felt like she had mastered the emotionless mask she saw day in day out. “I am as much Scoia’tael as any other Seidhe is. If you had been a dh’oine, I’d have felled you without a second thought.”

“Uhu.” He mimicked her movement. “Then what is a Scoia’tael member such as yourself doing out here all by herself?”

“Hunting.” It wasn’t even a lie. 

“I thought Squirrels always hunted in packs.”

She couldn’t say that she didn’t work well in groups, for that would only prove her ‘half-elf-ness’. But what other reason would there be to send out a single hunter? “We… are currently too busy to hunt in large groups. Hence, a few single hunters.”

Yet again, the stranger simply stared before saying, “Be that as it may, I have some real hunting to do.” 

He turned to go, and as he left, Gwen realised that she didn’t even asked his name. And only once he had disappeared from her sight did she wonder whether he had anything to do with the vatt’ghern in their camp. After all, how large was the possibility of _two_ vatt’gherns being in the same place? 

The half-elf sighed and shrugged to herself. Her will to kill something had dissipated with the presence of the strange man, whose body had all but radiated soothing calmness. With her mind far clearer than it would have been had she killed a few beasts, she made her way back to camp, adamant to find someone to talk to about this new vatt’ghern.


	24. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist returns from her escapade and runs into an old friend(?). Our love interest has a talk with her. More insubordination ensues (no surprise there).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to take a second to thank all my readers for sticking with me so long. Though I haven't said it before, that doesn't mean I don't think about you guys on a(n almost) daily basis, and I am very grateful for all the support I get from you guys. Every review and each kudo I receive manages to make my day brighter. So thank you very much for that!
> 
> "Distance" belongs to Evergrey.

When Gwen returned after taking a large detour through the forest, stopping here and there to just sit and watch the trees sway in the wind, the camp seemed to have settled down. The wounded had been taken care of, and with most of them asleep, the adrenaline had disappeared, after which the others had quietened down as well. 

Without waiting to find out whether anybody needed her just yet, she made her way towards the training grounds, avoiding eye contact with anybody who crossed her path. In the past few weeks, she had almost forgotten about how her dh’oine blood. Had forgotten that she did not truly belong here. The vatt’ghern’s comments had brought all her insecurities up again, even if he hadn’t done it with malicious intentions. 

Owain was training a group of young elves when she arrived. She leaned against a nearby tree and watched them work, wondering why she hadn’t been called back for more training sessions yet. Perhaps they had figured that she didn’t need any of it. Gleefully she recognised the elf who had sparred with her a while back, and who had suffered an overwhelming defeat at her hands – Nessa, if she recalled correctly. 

It was weird to watch all these… kids, as it were, being trained in the way of battle as an outsider, without taking part of the training. For one, she was surprised to see that there were still this many young ones left, something which she hadn’t noticed before. One would begin to think that, after all these years of fighting, there wouldn’t be any left to train. And secondly, it reminded her of the time when she, too, had received her training, back in Vengerberg. 

Iorveth hadn’t been completely wrong when he had insisted that she had led a life of luxury. It was simply that, relatively speaking, it hadn’t lasted very long. She had known the palace of Vengerberg like her own home, and she had eaten and slept and trained with the other human children who had occupied it. They, and most of the adults, had looked down on her, but hadn’t dared speak a bad word about or to her, for fear of incurring her father’s wrath. But when he died maybe twenty years later, all that changed, and his son – her half-brother – took matters into his own hands. He had always felt that Gwen and her mother had received preferential treatment, and so, first of all, he had banned them from all their connections with royalty. As if those nobles would have wanted to do anything with them after Baldwin’s death to begin with. 

Her father had been the human to instil a certain amount of naivety within her. Though she had never liked any of the other humans, who had avoided her most of the time, for some reason she had still thought that they could be trusted simply because her father had loved her. That was most likely the reason why, even after his death, she had continued to interact with them, and how she had ended up falling for Elric. Now she knew there were no more humans who wouldn’t despise her. But then again, she had thought the same of elves, yet here she was. No, she couldn’t think this way. She had to believe in their cause now.

“Anybody home?” 

Pulled out of the depths of her mind, Gwen blinked a few times before getting her bearings. Owain stood before her, arms crossed, an empty mask once more in place. All friendliness they seemed to have had during their previous sparring match seemed to have disappeared. 

“What can I help you with?” he asked. Behind him, the elves continued to fight each other in mock battles, yelling and grunting as their weapons clashed. 

As if that reminded her of the purpose of her visit, Gwen released the bow from her back and the sword from her hip, and held them out to Owain. 

Without moving to accept them, a sliver of confusion appeared in the elf’s expression. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I wish to return these to you,” Gwen stated, hoisting them a little higher into the air to emphasise her point. 

Owain reached out and curled his fingers around the bow, only to push it back in the direction of the half-elf. “No. Keep them. I have no need of them.”

“You don’t understand.” She shook her head and resisted, pressing against the bow with just as much force. “I want to make my own.”

“Then at least keep the sword. How do you propose to make your own sword out here to begin with?” 

Lowering her arms, Gwen bit her lip and frowned. She hadn’t thought about that. A bow she could make herself. A sword made of steel, not so much.

“Do you know that these swords are called?” the master-at-arms asked as he almost tenderly lifted the bow from her grasp. When she didn’t answer, he carried on, “They are swords of the Blue Mountains, to remind us of a place we like to call home. To remind us of what we’re fighting for. You deserve one just as much as any other elf here does.”

Gwen stared at the sword she still held in her hands, tracing the intricate patterns with her gaze. _Home_? Though she had been fighting alongside elves as part of the Scoia’tael, she had done so mindlessly, simply because there was nothing else to do. But the longer she stayed, the more she wanted to belong… Perhaps she, too, could share this dream of going ‘home’ one day? 

“Thank you,” she whispered and bowed her head ever so slightly. 

A hand landed heavily on the back of her head, ruffling her short hair and touching the tips of her ears. “Never thought I’d get to see the day you lowered your head. I think you need to go and have a fight with some Seidhe before I start wondering if you’re still sick.”

“I was taught to always respect my elders. Especially the old ones,” Gwen retorted with a grin. 

She danced away from the elf before he could grab her, though the smile on his face told her more than enough. By the time he turned around to return to his students, all traces of emotions had once more been wiped away. Shaking her head again, the half-elf sheathed her sword. Then she made her way back to her tent, a certain bounce in her step that attracted the attention of others, who turned to watch her go by with small smiles playing on their lips. She was intercepted on her way there, however.

“Gwenfrewi,” Iorveth called out from behind her, and she tensed before slowly turning around, her good mood all but forgotten.

“What… what is it?” she asked, keeping her back straight and her shoulders squared. Chin in the air, face devoid of emotion.

“Where have you been?”

“Uhm, out. Hunting.” Though he didn’t sound angry, Gwen couldn’t relax. When he only stared at her, she added, “And? Was that it?”

“I have received news that two of our soldiers have been hanged in Flotsam. Shea and Muriel, both scouts from Lobinden,” he stated. His face was unreadable and his voice held the tone of the commander, but Gwen realised this was most likely his way of apologising. She released the breath she had been holding. “A dwarf named Zoltan Chivay, whom I had extended the offer of commanding a unit, was to be hanged, too. The vatt’ghern who cut through many elves when I confronted him this morning saved at least him and some dh’oine friend of his.” 

Gwen swallowed hard, jaw clenched, at the thought of innocent elves finding their place on the scaffold. Surrounded by nothing but haters and enemies during their final moments… There was nothing she could do about that, though. The vatt’ghern, though… “I met a vatt’ghern today. Or rather, he found me. I was hiding in a tree when he looked right at me.”

A startled expression crossed Iorveth’s face. He took a step toward her, his hands clenched and his teeth bared. “Did he touch you?!”

“What?! Of course not!” Why would he ask such a— Oh! Her lips formed a tiny smile. “Don’t tell me you’re _worried_?”

And just like that, his face closed like a book, and she met a brick wall. “Of course I do. It is my responsibility to see that nothing happens to my subordinates, and I have lost far too many good soldiers due to that bastard today.”

“Why are you telling this to me, though?” Gwen asked. Though she appreciated the information, she couldn’t believe he would say this just to make her feel better. There had to be something else behind it. 

“Everyone knows now,” he stated by way of explaining. “The vatt’ghern’s appearance heralds a change in plans, though I am not yet sure how. We must all be on our guard from now on.”

“And what about Ciaran?” Gwen whispered, averting her gaze and rubbing her arm.

Iorveth surprised her by heaving a sigh. “I have already sent a few scouts to investigate the situation. Some days ago, to tell the truth. Immediately once I had realised he was gone.” 

At hearing that, Gwen perked up. So he _hadn’t_ given up on the stupid elf after all! “Have they found anything?” 

“He is indeed being kept on the prison barge. Other elves have been sent to get into position for a rescue mission, but it will take some time to scope out the situation and to come up with a proper plan. If they hold him there, they must have intentions of their own,” Iorveth responded after a moment of hesitation. 

And somehow she had missed all of this. Then again, he had never told her anything either. 

When neither of them spoke, Iorveth raised a hand to adjust his headscarf. “Well then. I have some matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave now.”

He turned to leave, but seeing him perform a nervous tick for the first time since meeting him had made her insides feel like they were melting. She hadn’t quite forgiven him, or so she told herself, even though she had already come to the conclusion that it had been within his right as her commander. It was a better reason than the fact that she just wanted to do this.

And so she reached out for him, catching his upper arm before he could step out of range. When he looked at her over his shoulder, his mouth open and ready to respond, she leaned forward to capture it with hers. She traced her tongue along his lower lip and felt him tense, relax, then tense again when he pushed her away.

Wiping a hand across his mouth, he scowled at her, a dangerous look in his eye. Its intended effect was diminished by his flustered expression, his hand still covering his mouth. He inhaled, ready to reprimand her, but someone called out his name, and his head snapped in the direction of whoever had spoken. With one more look at Gwen, who hadn’t stopped grinning, he slinked off to be the commander again. 

Only when he had disappeared did the corners of Gwen’s lips descend as her entire body sagged, as it were. That look in his eye hadn’t spelled certain doom for her. She hadn’t been saved by some unsuspecting elf who had interrupted their commander just before he tore her apart for going against his orders. 

His eye had been filled with lust. 

Though they hadn’t had actual sex yet, they hadn’t been completely innocent, either. They had already established that they enjoyed each other’s bodies, but always in a dark tent or during the night. Never out in the open, during the day, where their faces and every flicker of emotion were visible. 

Closing her eyes, her fingers wrapped themselves tightly around the hilt of her sword as if that would ward off these the memories. Men had often looked at her like that. Loredo had had that look, as had Elric. In between those men, one other had had his way with her as well. None of them had thought of anything but their own pleasure.

But Iorveth… Iorveth was different. He had never used her. Always made sure she was comfortable and ready. And she did the same for him.

This was what a relationship was supposed to be like… Right? Then why couldn’t she shake off the uneasiness that had crept into her limbs, her insides, when she realised what that look he had given her had meant?

She lifted her other hand to her mouth and bit on the skin between her thumb and her forefinger. Tears sprung into her eyes and she thought she tasted blood, but she did not relent. Why couldn’t she just shed her past like a second skin? Why couldn’t she just let go? 

Furious at herself, she looked down at her sword and wanted nothing more than to slice her skin open with it. She deserved it. She fucking deserved it. Things were finally looking up for her – she had people she considered friends surrounding her, she had found a man who respected her, she almost had a cause and a reason to live again – and all she could do was remember the past. 

At first she had trusted everybody and everything, but now she saw monsters in every shadow. Perhaps it was better to remain naïve and to tackle every betrayal headfirst as they came than to become bitter and to expect the worst around every corner. 

Almost… almost she unsheathed the blade, her throbbing hand holding the scabbard while her other still held the grip. But she had made a promise. The spell would pass, and she would speak to Iorveth about it. She would. 

At least she hoped she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god Gwen not again


	25. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist comes clean surprisingly soon. Our love interest has a moment of rest and relaxation and revelations with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Marti_Kona, whose suggestion fed my plotbunnies~ I hope you enjoy it (despite the lack of Gwen)!
> 
> "Lost" belongs to the kings of angst, Evergrey.
> 
> Edit: I am not sure whether I already mentioned this, but there'll be quite a bit of AU/headcanons in this story, as some of you may already have noticed. This goes from the pasts of established characters to the biology of, for example, half-elves, since we get little to no information about these things from canon sources. I am not ashamed to admit that I used dogs as... "inspiration" for the reproduction system of half-elves, which would mean Gwen has her period about twice a year. Also, and you can all kinkshame me for this, playing with the concept of "being in heat"! I'm going to have so much fun with this, hehehe.

And of course she didn’t. Though to be fair, she hadn’t even seen him since then, and thus had had no opportunity to talk to him. At least, that was what she told herself.

There was also the matter of her bleeding, which came somewhat as a surprise. Every time she bled, she wondered whether it would be the last. She had grown old, after all. For how long would she remain fertile? Whatever the case, she found some bandages to use and pretended like nothing had happened. 

Then came the longing, the images of a certain elf filling her mind in the worst way possible. Her fingers itched to slide along his supple biceps, her legs yearned to capture his hips. Gwen wanted to roll her eyes at her body and say, “Not _this_ again.” Alas, she could not, for what good would it do?

When she all but stumbled upon the elf a while later, her face at once burned with her shame. She turned to the side, hoping her hair had grown long enough to hide herself from him. At least until the blush had passed. Then… _then_ she would tell him, though it seemed like a strange thing to do when she wanted to rid him of his clothes.

The commander ended her train of thoughts abruptly by grasping her wrist and lifting it. His voice low, he asked, “What is this? Tell me a nekker managed to bite you.”

She had completely forgotten about the bite mark, and all colour drained from her face as Iorveth closed the distance between them, and not in the good way. At least that solved her blushing problem. 

“I—” she began. She swallowed hard and licked her lips, eyes darting around as if seeking a way out. “I was mad, okay?”

“And so you fought with someone who then proceeded to bite your hand?” The lines in Iorveth’s face softened slightly, but he did not release his vice grip on her wrist. “Or did you decide that the next best option to cutting yourself was this? Next you will tell me that, this way, at least it doesn’t bleed.”

Gwen only lowered her gaze to examine the grass between her toes. A small insect, some bug, was crawling across a blade, sliding down before it could reach the top. It seemed not to have noticed that, if the foot standing beside it moved to the left, it would not even have the chance to realise it had died. How simple life would be if one were to remain forever oblivious of the dangers around oneself?

A leather finger lifted her head, forcing her brown eyes to meet his green one. “And what made you so angry you lost the capability to act like a sapient being and bit yourself?”

“Because I was scared. Of… of you.” Iorveth dropped his hand and took a step back, but the half-elf went on. “But not truly of _you_. You, uhm… You looked at me like you wanted me. Like you were going to take me, whether I wanted to be taken or not. Or maybe that’s just what I saw.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “They all had the same look. It’s just simple lust, or need, or what have you. But you looked at me like that, and I thought of Loredo, and of Elric. And… and there was one other.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “An elf. He wouldn’t fuck an inh’eid, though, but… Well, he still forced himself upon me, in a way. There, now you know.”

When Iorveth didn’t answer, Gwen cracked open an eye and recoiled, as if expecting him to hit her. Instead, he only stared at her. She couldn’t gauge his emotions, though. 

“What, exactly, does this have to do with your biting your hand?” he asked evenly. 

“Because you deserve better. _I_ deserve better. I keep remembering the past, though I don’t want to. I want to be released, but it won’t let me, and it’s dragging you down as well,” she replied, her voice becoming more high-pitched as she went along. “I was mad because I just can’t let go.”

His hands flit about for a moment before they quickly died again, and Gwen wondered if they had wanted to reach out. Perhaps to touch her. 

“I chose to be where I am, and you have nothing to say about that. Unless you no longer wish for it yourself.” Gwen frantically shook her head. “But it indicates that we have done too much, too soon. We must establish boundaries and goals before delving deeper into… this. That, however, will have to be discussed at a later moment.”

He tilted his head, as if bowing, and left, his armour shifting noisily as he went. Gwen watched him go, feeling strangely empty and unaccomplished.

~~~~

When Ivor approached Iorveth with a bottle of clear liquid, the commander at once knew he would not be able to escape this. Ivor had always had a nose for troubling thoughts, and Iorveth wasn’t exactly full of happy ones. With Ciaran gone, many Scoia’tael dead, and a second vatt’ghern close by, rest and relaxation had been the last thing on the unit leader’s mind. He hadn’t even touched his flute in… well, far too long. The fact that the woman with whom he had been sharing quite a few restless nights had told him that he had reminded her of past sufferers…

Perhaps vodka was exactly what he needed in this moment.

“Where did you even get this?” he asked as he accepted the bottle before taking a swig and handing it back to Ivor. 

The other grinned and said, “I was in Lobinden today and came by Cedric. Decided to help myself to his stash, hoping maybe it’d encourage him to become sober for once.”

“He still hasn’t lost that habit, has he?” Iorveth shook his head. He didn’t ask why Ivor had gone to Lobinden, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t want to hear the answer. Not that he didn’t know what it was to begin with.

“The day Cedric becomes sober is the day the world will be torn asunder,” Ivor announced, lifting the bottle into the air as a toast. After drinking from it, he held it in the commander’s direction, who mimicked his actions. 

“Aye.” Shifting on the spot, Iorveth lowered the bottle to the ground at his feet. Ivor had taken him to one of the campfires, since it was slowly growing dark. Instead of seating themselves on the logs surrounding the flames, they took to sitting on the ground, opposite of each other with the bottle of vodka in their middle. “It is a surprise that man could do anything at all like that.”

Ivor chuckled. “You speak of him as though he were dead.”

The commander, who had been in the process of lifting the bottle to his lips again, halted his movements. He blinked as if in realisation and shrugged. “He did always claim to be so very old. Who knows how long it will take before he simply doesn’t wake up one morning.”

It would probably be the first time any of them heard of the peaceful dying of a Seidhe. Iorveth did not count those in Dol Blathanna as true Aen Seidhe. Those who willingly bowed down to humans, whether they lived in dh’oine cities or received land – _Seidhe_ land – from them, did not have the right to call themselves Seidhe. 

“Now, now, commander,” Ivor said when he reached for the bottle, a glint of amusement in his cloudy eyes. A familiar one, that Iorveth had seen many a time. “This is no time for such macabre thoughts.”

Iorveth had long since given up trying to find out how the man knew his every thought. Even among the Seidhe, Ivor’s… ‘talent’ to read others was remarkable. The unit leader chuckled lowly. How strange that, at a time like this, he would remember moments from a long time ago. Who knew what they might have done had the feelings for each other still been there. Or if they hadn’t had the patience and self-control only a century old Seidhe could have. Humans, after all, would already have jumped each other, ripping off clothes as though they were wild animals. 

A smack to his knee brought him out of his thoughts gain, and he jerked up, hands ready to defend himself. He lowered them when he saw Ivor glaring at him half-heartedly. “What did I just tell you, _commander_?”

“No macabre thoughts. All right.”

With a satisfied smile, the man before him nodded once. The look changed completely when he leaned forward with narrowed eyes, a grin playing on his lips. A hand came to rest upon Iorveth’s knee, sliding along the length of his leg. First it slid down his calf to his foot, then it changed its track and moved up, towards his thigh…

“Say, commander…” Ivor began. His cheeks were flushed, and for a moment Iorveth wondered, or perhaps feared, whether the man was already drunk. “Do you remember that time in the winter, in the woods…?”

_That_ time. 

_“Ah,” Ivor breathed, almost as a warning, but Iorveth ignored it and continued to work his hard length._

_His touch was a combination of harshness and gentleness, two things that didn’t seem to mix but that he managed to pour into the movement of his fingers pulling the skin back and forth. He began to swirl his thumb across the tip, spreading the pre-ejaculate across the surface._

“Ivor,” the commander said in a low voice, his hand coming down to capture his friends’, “stop.”

Ivor cast his eyes down. “But why, commander? You have never been one to decline the offer to… blow off some steam.”

Iorveth entire body went rigid at the accusation. It was true; he had encouraged taking his mind off of things by indulging in carnal activities. Could he truly get away with it if he claimed he was not in the mood right now? Wouldn’t that tip Ivor of all people off?

Much to his surprise, his friend burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “So it _is_ true.”

Perplexed, the commander could only stare at the man, his face frozen into place. He knew that he had lost. There was no use hiding it now. His shoulders slumped, and with a sigh he asked, “How did you know?”

“Oh commander, you wound me,” Ivor said and he held a hand over his chest. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t notice? I doubt Gwen knows more about Aedirn’s situation than most of us here.”

Iorveth shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his face. It disappeared just as quickly, however. “For now, at least.”

“For now?” Ivor’s brows dipped down and he lifted the bottle to his mouth before handing it back to Iorveth. “What do you mean?”

“Gwenfrewi has been having some trouble with her past,” he said as he mimicked his friend’s movements.

The other man tilted his head to the side. “So she has ended it.”

“No, but…” Another swig.

“But?”

“We are both willing to try. If she isn’t ready, however…” Another.

Ivor took the bottle from him and inspected its contents, or growing lack thereof. “She told you that herself?”

“She told me I reminded her of her _rapist_!” Iorveth hissed. The vodka was making him impulsive, though he couldn’t care in that moment. “One of them was even Aen Seidhe.”

“There are nekkers in every forest. You know that better than anyone.” Ivor stared at his hands before meeting the commander’s heated gaze. “And I think you don’t give her enough credit. Either that, or you give up far too easily. Afraid of being hurt, are you, commander?”

Said commander’s ears turning red, and he sputtered in search of an answer. Bloede vodka!

“You and I both know that Gwen has never told you that ‘you remind her of her rapists’.” Ivor raised a delicate bow. “So what did she truly tell you?”

“That the way I looked at her reminded her of them.”

Ivor posed his hands as if all his problems had just vanished. “And then?”

“I said we needed to distance ourselves. To slow down.” When his subordinate’s face fell, he almost felt afraid. Almost.

“How is doing nothing going to help anything?” he asked, incredulous. “Did you decide this with or without her?”

Iorveth snagged the alcohol back from his friend. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this. “I don’t want her doing anything because she thinks she _has_ to.”

“Yes,” Ivor replied with a snort, “because Gwen of all people would do anything she didn’t want to do.”

“I did what I had I had do. If it comes back to bite me in the arse, so be it.” The commander shrugged and drank some more vodka. A light-headedness he hadn’t felt in a long time slowly began to settle within him. 

“What the heck are you two doing here?” a voice came from beside them, the side away from the fire, and Iorveth’s back once more became as stiff as a tightly-drawn bow.

“Ah, if it isn’t our favourite inh’eid,” Ivor stated with a wide grin.

Iorveth grumpily thought the damned Seidhe was enjoying this far too much. He also noticed that said inh’eid focussed her attention upon Ivor. Also that she seemed to be… glowing. Shaking his head, he blamed it on the alcohol and the firelight.

“Have you drunk so much that I must remind you that I am also the _only_ inh’eid you know?” Gwenfrewi asked. “And… is that _vodka_?”

“Not for you, it isn’t. The commander and I are having a boy’s night out.”

“A boy’s night _out_ in the middle of camp?”

“All right then, point made.” Ivor’s teeth shone in the light of the campfire. “To please our favourite inh’eid, we shall move somewhere more discreet.”

“Your _only_ inh’eid!” Gwenfrewi reminded them as they got up. 

Though the world spun slightly, Iorveth pretended not to notice. Instead he kept his gaze on the inh’eid, who continued to avoid eye contact with him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get you something to drink next time,” Ivor said before he left, holding the bottle of clear liquid in the air as though it would help guide Iorveth after him.

Just before following him, the commander reached out for the inh’eid’s hand. The tips of his fingers traced hers, and he could feel her body tense and then relax. He pulled away before, in his drunken fit, he could entwine his fingers with hers, and sauntered off. Even when he was no longer in sight, he could still feel her eyes on his back. 

As if fearing another interruption, the two men talked only about light, nonsensical things, mostly silly things they had done in the past when they were younger. Iorveth, however, did not know which was worth: remembering better days, or discussing the misgivings of the present.

~~~~

While Gwen lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling of her tent, she heard nothing but the sound of a fire crackling off in the distance, as well as some elves who had not yet retreated to their beds, and the breathing of those with which she shared this space. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Iorveth standing in front of her, tempting her. Torturing her. And even when she opened them again, she almost felt the touch of his fingers against hers, just as he had done before he left.

Why would he say one thing, and do the opposite? He wanted distance, although for her sake, but that had been a yearning for closeness. She just wanted to be by his side. There, now that she had admitted it, there was no going back. That did not mean his apparition would stop haunting her, however.

Her cheeks flushed at the idea that filled her head all of a sudden. Holding her breath, she listened to that of her tent-mates. From the evenness of their breathing, she knew that they were asleep, but still that did not set her at ease. Instead she got out of bed and, moving as quietly as she could, she slipped out of the tent and towards the edge of the camp. 

The cool air against her skin and the grass, wet beneath her soles, did nothing to quench the heat within. The elves who had been talking amongst themselves by the campfire did not notice her presence as she slipped away. On her way towards a more secluded spot, where she knew nobody would be at this time, she kept an eye out for any sentries she might stumble upon. By now she had memorised their positions enough to be able to avoid bumping into one of them, though.

Away from the voices and the fire and the tents, she leaned against the trunk of a tree, the cloth of her tunic getting caught in the jagged ends of the bark as she slid towards the ground. She leaned the back of her head against the tree, even spotting a few stars that shone in the gaps between the foliage of the forest. Biting her lip, she slid a hand between her legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo the flashback Iorveth has in this chapter is part of an actual one-shot I wrote for a dear friend, who is perhaps more of a Ivor x Iorveth fan than a Gwen x Iorveth one, haha. Anyway, if anybody wants to read it, just say so and I shall look into posting it as a separate story on this website.


	26. Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist accompanies our love interest when confronting the newly-arrived vatt'ghern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyy more game plot stuff happens! As stated before, I've changed some stuff, mainly when it comes to the timeline. Something I haven't mentioned before (I think) is that I've made the pool by the waterfall deeper than it actually is, for obvious plot reasons.

The bow she had carved for herself was a simple one made out of wood from a yew, with only two limbs instead of four. She had decided not to decorate it, and instead keep the natural patterns of the wood. Since it had been a while since she had done any of this, she had tried several times before succeeding in making a weapon worthy of battle.

Now she was aiming that bow at the vatt’ghern she had met in the woods a few days ago – Gwynbleidd, Iorveth had called him. She recognised the name, but nothing more. Ivor stood beside her in the same position as herself, his gaze trained on the man as well as the dwarf who stood beside him. From the corner of her eyes she recognised a few other elves, but kept her attention at the matter at hand. 

Which, in this moment, was keeping Iorveth safe. They had just seen this stranger take down an arachas all by himself, after all. Who knew what else he was capable of. Though the unit leader stood tall, his broad shoulders squared, he must have come to the same realisation.

“I want the Kingslayer. Letho, the man whose crimes I’m accused of,” the vatt’ghern declared. He hadn’t even flinched at the hard tone Iorveth had used against him. Not even when the commander had threatened to kill him. 

Gwen realised in that moment she hadn’t even known the name of _their_ vatt’ghern. 

Iorveth merely crossed his arms. “If you hadn’t become Foltest’s lackey, you wouldn’t have been there when he was murdered. Do you really expect me to betray a useful ally?”

“Letho betrayed you,” Gwynbleidd declared, and murmurs erupted all around Gwen. She, too, hadn’t expected his words. Then again, he was most likely lying to worm his way out of this. “He wanted to make a deal with your comrade, Ciaran.”

Gwen’s body tensed, and she caught Ivor’s eye. How did this vatt’ghern know about Ciaran?! Could he have somehow found out about individual members of their unit to lure Iorveth out of hiding? But excluding Iorveth, Gwen had thought them all to be faceless Scoia’tael soldiers. Ivor only shook his head, his mouth a thin line as he turned back towards the scene below.

“Ciaran aep Easnillen is dead. A week ago his warriors were ambushed and killed. You should invent better lies, Gwynbleidd.” The commander sneered at the vatt’ghern as he took a step towards him.

“He’s on the barge. Wounded, but alive,” Gwynbleidd stated, and Gwen found herself releasing her breath. “He turned Letho down, and his unit paid the ultimate price.”

Iorveth lowered his head for a moment. Contemplating, perhaps. “If you speak the truth, Letho will die. But words alone are not enough.” 

As he spoke, he signalled his archers to lower their weapons, and so they did, sharing uncertain glances as they did so. Still, they remained where they were, ready to defend their leader should the need arise. In the meantime, Iorveth and Gwynbleidd continued to speak about other matters while the dwarf watched the two of them. 

When the vatt’ghern asked him what their goal was, the commander once more mentioned the ‘she’ he had spoken of with Gwen, though still he mentioned no names. Then, he accused the elf of abandoning the non-humans who lived in Flotsam with their oppressors. 

“That’s no life!” Iorveth snapped, lifting a clenched fist. “They’ve been stripped of self-respect, forced to live and die by human laws. They’re more dh’oine than you, Geralt.”

Gwen thought back to the years she had spent in Vengerberg. Would Iorveth have thought the same of her, back then? Would she and her mother have been just another set of non-humans who had surrendered themselves to a life surrounded by humans, giving up the right to call themselves non-humans to begin with? 

Before long, Gwynbleidd – Geralt – and Iorveth had begun formulating a plan to investigate his accusations of Letho. All the while, Gwen kept her orbs focussed on the commander’s back. For his safety, she told herself, but even then she couldn’t help but imagine gliding her fingers along his body. Along the freckles that covered his pale skin, the puckered flesh of old scars, the bones of his spine like a sea monster gliding through the water. Along the muscles that twitched beneath her touch… 

She caught herself in her fantasies and shook her head as if to clear her mind. After their conversation a while ago, Iorveth had distanced himself from her, as he had promised. At least when it came to the intimate moments, when nobody was around. They had never had the talk about boundaries and goals, though.

That, however, wasn’t what Gwen had wanted. Yes, perhaps they should take things slower. But this, this wasn’t slowing down… This was simply stagnation. Nothing would change if they simply deployed a ‘wait and see’ tactic. The half-elf blamed these unsavoury thoughts at such a time on the lack of intimacy between the two of them the past few days. Then again, there was also _that_ …

She had no clue what the purpose of her bleeding was, but what she _did_ know was that it had other… effects on her as well. The fact that her body regularly tingled with the need to be touched was one such effect, and there was only so much she could do on her own. In fact, the half-elf had never touched herself like that in her entire life. There had never been the time or energy. Now with more than enough of both at hand, as well as a lover(?) who refused to come near her, however… And as if to taunt her, her lover(?) had appointed her as one of the Scoia’tael to accompany him on this mission. 

“We need to go.” Gwynbleidd’s voice held such finality that it tore Gwen from her reverie, and she scolded herself for allowing her mind to wander. 

The commander shook his head, and even from here Gwen saw the twitch in one of Geralt’s brows, his jaw clenching at the same time. Confused, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“And why not?” he demanded.

“Because,” Iorveth said, “would _you_ believe it if a stranger appeared before you mere days after arriving, with me in tow? Because the many battles I have won and the trials I have survived before today were due to my luck?”

“I see your point,” the other man conceded, his voice low. “When will we move, then?”

The elf chuckled, the sound of it sending tiny imaginary snakes sliding up Gwen’s spine. “Do not worry, you will know when all is set.”

Despite the goose bumps raised across her skin, the half-elf couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The damned commander had been far too cryptic lately, talking about battles they would be joining and the like. And now this.

Geralt did not seem too amused by it, either, but he knew just as much as the elves surrounding him that he wouldn’t be able to force Iorveth to do anything, and so he just nodded. Without another word, Iorveth turned and sauntered back towards the cliff where his force stood. They continued to watch for any sign of foul play on the vatt’ghern’s part while their commander had his back turned to him. Only when their leader had found his way up by climbing a tree that stood next to the cliff did they relax.

And then suddenly Gwen’s companions spun around and marched back to where they had come from. She jumped a few times to catch up with Ivor, after which she kept his fast pace. Soon they found themselves walking at the front of the group. From the corner of her eye, the half-elf noted that Iorveth hung back instead of taking the lead as he normally would have. 

“Are you even allowed to be up and running again?” she asked with a grin. Though he seemed to be walking just fine, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he had truly managed to recover so quickly.

“Menial tasks such as keeping our commander alive are allowed, it would seem,” her friend replied as his lips formed a smile of his own.

Gwen let out a bark of laughter before she nudged him in the side with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows as she did so. “So, how was your boy’s night out with the commander?”

“Oh, actually quite delightful. He had a lot to say about you, actually.” 

The half-elf almost felt the blood in her veins stop flowing for a moment. She quickly reached up to flick a strand of hair out of her face. “More complaining about the bloede inh’eid going against orders again?”

“Well, that too. It took me a while though, even had to feed him the second bottle of vodka I had gotten, which I actually wanted to save for you. Apologies for that. But the commander can be so very amusing when drunk. You know—” 

“Your point, Ivor?” she asked and gestured wildly.

The elf’s smile broadened, his eyes widening in amusement, and Gwen at once knew whatever would come out of his mouth next would be no good at all. “Let’s just say that he told me a lot about what the two of you have been doing when you believed no one was looking.” He raised his brow at her, something akin to puzzlement on his face. “You do realise other Seidhe have noticed as well, do you not? You always claimed to have no ties to your country whatsoever, yet now you are our expert. Suspicious, no?”

Gwen couldn’t stop her cheeks from darkening. “Then I suppose he also told you about…” Her voice trailed off and she tightened the grip on her bow, which she still held in her hand.

“Your predicament?” Ivor offered with a tilt of his head.

She nodded and looked away quickly so that she could only hear how he sighed before he added, “He is probably so afraid of causing you pain, to repeat your past sufferings, that he does not realise he will only hurt you more like this. I suggest you take action with your own two hands, to move forward.” He stopped for a moment, hesitating. “That is, if you are ready to do so. I do not wish to presume your state of mind with this.”

“Thank you. I’ll think about it,” Gwen murmured at her feet. When she looked up, she had managed to muster a small smile for him. After a moment of hesitation, she murmured, “Do you think we’ll be able to save Ciaran?” 

Blinking in surprise, Ivor stared at her for moment. Perhaps he wondered about the sudden change of topic. Or perhaps he was wondering since when she cared about the elf. Then, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Who knows. Gwynbleidd claimed he was still alive, so perhaps we can.”

He didn’t sound very sure, however. Gwen didn’t want to hear why, though, and so she remained silent. Fact, they spent the rest of the walk in companionable silence. It was warm for this time of year, though the shade offered by the forest prevented it from being uncomfortably so. Summer would arrive soon, and who knew what the change of season would bring. After all, no matter how vague Iorveth had been about his plans for the future, he had at least tried to prepare everyone for _something_. 

With every passing day, the excitement mounted, something that was evident even now, as the elves behind them talked animatedly. From the bits and pieces of conversations Gwen caught, she heard many of them talking about what would happen if the vatt’ghern ended up being right. Others discussed Ciaran’s situation. Despite the fact that Gwen had never been friendly with the elf, she couldn’t help but feel elated at the thought of getting him out alive, whether Ivor believed he could be saved or not. He did not deserve to die because he refused to betray his leader. Loyalty was already so hard to come by these days. To let one of the few remaining people worthy of trust die…

When they arrived at the slope that would lead them back to the camp, Gwen left the group, telling Ivor that she felt like taking a bath before getting back to work. The day was just warm enough to make the excuse seem plausible; a sheen of sweat covered their bodies from the hike through the woods. The elf nodded before starting the climb up the hill, after which Gwen made her way to the waterfall, where she soon stumbled upon a newly-made nekker nest. 

She didn’t wait for the creatures to mobilise after they dug their way up to the surface, instead slicing through the two closest to her with one swift movement before stepping back and swinging her blade in the opposite direction, piercing the one behind her. Even before their corpses fell to the ground, she made her way around the pool, finding more of the foul beasts and putting them down. Just to be sure, she even checked behind the waterfall, ignoring the water that splashed off her armour as she made her way through and cleared the cave beyond as well. 

Only when she had made sure that every nekker in the near vicinity was dead did she drop herself by the side of the pool with a sigh. She rolled her muscles, stretched the tightness from them, and decided that, if anything, it had been a good exercise. She also decided that she needed to spar with Owain more often if she ever wanted to retain her strength and skills. Experience alone did not make a warrior, after all. 

It had been a great form of meditation, too, the half-elf realised when she noted how she felt strangely calm, especially compared to how agitated she had been a while ago. When she had had to watch Iorveth and think about everything she had done wrong. 

She groaned when the jitteriness returned with the memory, and so she quickly began to work on her armour, freeing herself from its confines, still wet from the waterfall. The clothes dropped to the ground behind her with squishy thuds, and she didn’t bother organising them as she dangled her feet and calves in the cool water. The liquid rippled around her limbs, and she placed her hands behind her and leaned back with a sigh. 

Now if only this place did not remind her of her first time with Iorveth, or of _any_ moment she had shared with the commander in this place, she might have truly been able to relax. Since this was not the case, it did not take long before that sensation of something crawling over her body returned. It was neither pleasant nor unpleasant; it was simply unbearable. It made her feel like digging her nails into her skin and tearing it off.

She did not know how much longer she could take this. 

With a soft whine, she placed a hand, cold to the touch, on her stomach, not yet sure whether she should resort to satisfying herself every time this feeling assailed her. After all, what good could possibly come from that? But then again, what _else_ could she do? 

Her fingers slid lower, brushing against the curls that greeted her there. 

And then she froze.

That familiar, horrible, damnable sound of armour clinking stopped as soon as it had appeared, and without turning around, she knew what she had gotten herself into. 

_Well shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the next chapter is exactly what you think it's going to be.


	27. Catch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist and love interest finally do the deed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is~ 7k words of smutty goodness. Though as always, I'm not sure about the quality, so any feedback is much appreciated and I'll try my best to fix anything that isn't right! I also want to warn you guys that this is probably the last update you'll be getting in a while. I'll try to get the next chapter written this month, but as some of you may know, November is National Novel Writing Month, and so I'll be concentrating on that when the time has come. Just so you know~
> 
> Chapter title comes from "Catch Me If You Can" by Walking on Cars.

Their gazes locked and neither of them moved, both of them like prey caught in a trap. Witnessing the commander like this, eye widened slightly and arms dangling by his sides, at any other moment she would have laughed until she started crying. Now, however, she only felt like pulling her clothes on again, or diving into the pool. Perhaps both. 

Instead, however, she pushed herself off the ground, opened her mouth, and snapped, “What are you doing here?” At the back of her mind, she recognised the voice of the ‘Old Gwen’. The Gwen who had been uncertain and angry, who had lashed out at anyone who came too close. At least, she liked to think that she was no longer that person. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Iorveth retorted, still not moving.

As she made her way to him, without giving in to the urge to cover herself, his hands curled into fists and he broadened his shoulders ever so slightly. As if bracing himself for impact. Though he kept his eye trained on her face, the rest of her body seemed to burn under the weight of his gaze, and her skin almost felt like it had become too small, too tight for her own flesh. The rough pebbles on the ground that pricked into her foot only seemed to amplify the sensation, but she ignored it all until she stood in front of the elf and placed her hands on her hips. 

Daring him to look.

He accepted the challenge headfirst, lips pressed into a thin line, and he squinted at her.

Being in such close proximity to the man reminded her of the plight of her body that had brought her in this situation to begin with. Her skin could have melted away in that moment, and still she would have had to resist the urge to rake her nails down her body, to dig deeper, to draw blood, _anything_ to distract—

One green eye flickered down. At once it widened again and flew back up, as if he knew that he had lost. 

But there was no time to gloat or to sulk, or even to breathe, for Gwen had already crushed her lips to his. The elf had opened his mouth, probably to say something, and she took the opportunity to plunge her tongue into the space beyond. Ignoring how his armour chafed against her bare skin, she pressed her body closer to his to deepen the kiss. 

All the while, she held her hands in the air. She wouldn’t touch him, restrain him, force him. He could break away and punish her accordingly for what she had done if he wished to.

Gloved fingers caught her wrists and pushed her away. When he didn’t let go, she dangled there in front of him, standing on the tips of her toes. She watched him from beneath half-lidded eyes with bated breath, her teeth chewing on her lower lip. Her body tensed as she awaited her punishment. 

“What are you doing?” the elf asked again, though the heat behind his words had dissipated. His voice was both low and soft, and his words brushed against her face like a caress. It seemed that the commander had disappeared together with his anger, and all that now stood before her was the man himself, with all his hopes and fears. _His_ , not those of his people. 

“You,” Gwen heard herself say. Blood rushed to her cheeks and, without thinking, she added, “I want to do you.”

Iorveth looked like he did not comprehend what was going on. He tightened his grip on her wrists, and she watched him narrow his eyes at her. “But you said—”

“I _know_ what I said!” she exclaimed, desperate and exasperated. “I also know what _you_ said. Slow down, you said. But _that’s_ not what I wanted. I only want you, and nothing else. Not the past, not the memories, not the… the trauma. Just you.”

“What do you want me to do, then? What do you propose, Gwenfrewi?” Iorveth snapped at her. “That I rape you, as the others did?”

What _did_ she want from him? She had been so focussed on what she didn’t want, that she hadn’t even thought about that. No, that wasn’t true; she wanted to touch and be touched by him. She wanted to forget everything. She wanted him to replace it all. 

She swallowed hard and turned her gaze away from him, suddenly conscious of the fact that he practically held her naked form in his arms. And despite her prior declaration of ‘wanting to do him’, she found it difficult to force herself to say the next few words.

“What are you mumbling?” Iorveth turned his head to the side and moved his ear closer.

“I… I want you to show me how it’s done, then.”

When the elf looked back, eye widened yet again, he was greeted by her determined, albeit flushed, face. “You mean—”

She nodded once. 

He lowered her arms so that both her feet were flat on the ground.

“Are you—”

She nodded again. 

He reached up and pushed her gently. Her back came to rest against the scratchy trunk of a tree. His eye seemed to darken ever so slightly, and she realised that, if he did not touch her at once, she did not know what she would do. 

“At any moment, if you—”

She threw her head back and let out an exaggerated groan. 

The sound turned into a whimper when the man’s lips found the throat she had bared to him and the vines that decorated it, his teeth grazing the soft skin there. His hands slid up the length of her arms, the tips of his fingers digging into her shoulders, keeping her still as he sucked on the nape of her neck, causing her to melt in his hold.

Somehow she managed to think coherently enough to place a hand on top of his and to tug at the fabric of his gloves. He lowered his mouth to her collarbone and released her shoulders long enough for her to remove his gloves, which were covered in scratches – a testimony to the many battles this man had fought.

Moan after moan tore its way out of her throat. Though her mind was blank – by now Iorveth’s hold on her was all that kept her from falling – her fingers found their way around his armour with ease now, releasing buckles and pushing armour out of the way until she could press her chest against his. They both already shone with drops of sweat, and any other moment the friction between their bodies would have driven her mad. In that moment, however, it took off some of the pressure that he must have felt too.

“Iorveth,” she said almost pleading, and he pulled back at once. 

She grasped the opportunity with both hands, literally; one on each cheek. Her right hand slid his leather strap back while she lifted the scarf with the other. They fell to the ground behind the elf, and she rested the pads of her thumbs upon his cheekbones. He inhaled sharply before he dipped his head down, lips capturing hers fiercely. 

Their mouths melded, and Gwen’s hands slipped down, moving from his face to his shoulders, along his sides and to his back, where they rested upon the curve of his backside. The commander tensed beneath her hands when she squeezed him, and she couldn’t help but grin into the kiss. 

Iorveth promptly let go of one of her shoulders, calloused fingers travelling down her body as well. Traced the edges of her breasts – never too far away, but also never close enough. Teased the ticklish spots just below her hipbones, which elicited a whine from her. Slipped further down, worming its way between their bodies and between her legs, where she had had hers only a short while ago.

If this was his way of having revenge, she could hardly comp—

He squeezed her clit, and she all but squealed in surprise. Now _he_ grinned into the kiss, his tongue diving deeper this time, as if to stop her from protesting. Before she could do anything else, he slipped his hand farther between her thighs, one finger gliding along her slick inner lips. Gwen watched from beneath her eyelashes how the elf raised a brow – the one above his mutilated eye – as she felt his smirk widen. 

A hot breath hung between them in the sudden absence of the other when he broke the kiss and pulled his hand back at a torturously slow pace. The half-elf did not recognise the look on his face as she watched him with a tilted head, feeling strangely empty at the lack of contact between the two of them. Though he kept his gaze fixed on her, she saw his finger as it came into view, and felt her heart beating like the hooves of a galloping horse across a wide plain. 

“Seems like you—” Iorveth stopped when he saw the blood coating his fingers, his lush green eye widening. In that moment he almost seemed… frightened, if such a thing were possible. “What is this?”

It was in that moment that Gwen realised that Iorveth quite possibly had never witnessed something like this. Then again, it was not as if she had extensively discussed such matters with her mother, so she had no idea whether female elves even experienced something similar. Though she had loved her mother dearly and had needed her advice quite often, there were things for which she had simply been too proud – and shy – to ask. This had only been one of them. 

“Have I hurt you?” Iorveth’s voice snapped her back to the here and now, and she shook her head, both to clear it and to deny his words.

“I, uhm… A few times a year… Because I’m still… fertile? I think?” was all that the half-elf managed to say in that moment. She could have slapped herself for the way she stumbled over the words like that. Suddenly she felt like a kid again, trying her best to tell her mother about her first bleeding without going into too much detail. 

The commander’s brows sank again, which Gwen thought was a good sign, just as another thought occurred to her. She had never had the luxury of approaching someone whenever she… bled, but Elric had always seemed to avoid her during these periods, except for a handful of times. Somehow the thought of others actually wanting to avoid the blood had never occurred to her until then.

“If it… I mean, if you’d rather not… I can completely understand?” the half-elf offered with a shy half-smile, opting to stare at his finger instead of his face. She shifted and felt as though her body had shrunk in an attempt to get away from him.

The unit leader put an end to that when his teeth caught her bottom lip, biting it softly and tugging at it, forcing her to come closer again. He did not touch her with that hand, though he snaked his other arm around her waist, his fingers coming to rest on the small of her back as he pulled her flush against him. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she stuttered incoherent words though she had no idea what she wanted to say.

“I am probably not able to have any children myself… But you must make sure to drink that herb tea, to be on the safe side,” he murmured, his forehead almost touching hers. When she nodded, he added, “Then I suggest that we move.”

Before she could respond, he had fully covered her mouth with his, parting her lips with his tongue and moving it against hers with slow strokes. At the same time, he took a step towards the pool, pulling her along with him. The hand on her back found her butt and returned the squeeze even as he continued to guide her towards the water.

She grumbled against him but did nothing else. Her heart beat against her ribcage like the relentless flurry of attacks Gwynbleidd had rained down upon the arachas, which hadn’t had a change against such a mighty opponent. All over, her body felt hot and agitated, expectant and excited for what surely was to come. _Aroused._

Nothing but the noise of the cascading waterfall and the sounds they themselves made as they kissed – flesh that clung together, as well as their heavy breathing – penetrated the space that had encapsulated them, disconnecting them from the rest of the world. Though the sweat that covered her made every touch unbearable, breaking apart from the elf almost hurt. Her hands roamed every inch of his bare skin, from the leaves spread across his shoulder to his abdominal muscles, trembling beneath her touch.

When they stopped moving, her feet almost took her into the pool in her inattentiveness. Iorveth pulled his hand away and instead sought the top of his breeches. His knuckles brushed against her stomach as he loosened the knot that held his clothes up, and she pushed them away before undoing them for him instead.

Slowly hooking her thumbs into both his breeches and his underclothes, she heard his breath hitch when she pulled them down a little. She flattened her hand against the skin she had revealed and pushed the fabric down until it pooled around Iorveth’s feet. As she followed the garments with her eyes, she couldn’t help but notice his penis, no longer soft but not quite hard either, and took an involuntary step back. 

Iorveth did not move after her. He stepped out of the pile of clothes and pushed them to the side with a foot, but otherwise he remained still. Gwen saw him curl his hands into fists again, and wondered how difficult it was for him to bare himself like this to her.

_He is more than his sex. Look at him, at how he is sacrificing his own comfort for you. He won’t hurt you, and you know it. Now just believe._

She had to do this. She _wanted_ to do this. She wanted to reclaim herself and everything that had been taken away from her. 

And so she closed the distance between them again and hid her face in the nape of his neck. The smell of leather and sweat all but overwhelmed her, adding to the need that was boiling deep inside of her, which might overflow any moment now. 

“Are you—” Iorveth began, his voice even rougher than usual, but his breath caught in his throat when she palmed his length, fingers tentatively wrapping themselves around him, and kneading him lightly. He moaned instead, and the sound raised goose bumps across Gwen’s arms.

She felt him swell a little in her grasp and found that pleasure she always got from reducing the legendary Iorveth to this. Though she moved slowly, as though taming a dangerous beast, his body reacted to her every touch, muscles stiffening and relaxing with the rhythm created by her motions. He found one of her nipples and pinched it, watched it harden. The half-elf gasped and squeezed him harder than she had wanted. 

This time he pressed his face against her hair as he let out another throaty moan. Then, all of a sudden, he grasped her wrist and lowered himself to the ground, his feet spilling water onto the shore as he slipped them into the pool. Caught by his hand, Gwen had to follow him down.

She slid into the water herself, barely registering the coolness of it against her hot skin, and positioned herself between his legs, never once letting go of his manhood. With the sudden distance between them, she could observe the reactions she caused with her own eyes. How his member twitched as it continued to harden, how his muscles rippled beneath his skin as his entire body tightened with anticipation. How he closed his eye, placed his hands behind him so he could lean back.

The guttural sounds he made caused her body to tingle all over, and she found herself torn between pleasuring him and asking to be touched. But the look on his face, serene despite the fact that he was biting his lip and frowning, egged her on. Carefully, she moved her hand lower and cupped his testicles, her eyes never leaving the elf’s face.

Suddenly he snaked a hand between her thighs again, pulling her closer with the other on her hip. No longer able to hold him comfortable like this, she released him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Resting her weight against him, she tried to spread her legs as much as possible while standing on the tips of her toes.

“Ah—”

He slipped one finger into her, adding another immediately afterwards. Slowly, so slowly, he pulled back, dragging the length of his fingers across her inner walls before sliding back in. He placed his other hand against her pelvis and rubbed her clit – which she only now realised was throbbing and aching – with his index and middle finger.

“Oh!” Now that she was receiving that which she had craved, the sensation almost overloaded her with elation. It felt as though a sorceress had cast a lightning spell on her, the hairs on her arms and neck standing on end. In that moment, she feared that she might erupt.

And this was only the beginning, or so she hoped. 

With that thought at the back of her mind, the half-elf moved closer towards Iorveth. Bending down slightly, she ran her tongue along his lips though he had already parted them. His came to greet hers, moving against it in a manner that reminded her of the fingers inside of her. If she stopped thinking about what he was doing to her, it was almost as though his tongue filled her instead, and she shivered.

The elf pulled back, perhaps to ask whether she wanted to stop, but she went after him just as quickly. Without breaking the kiss, she placed her hands on either side of his hips, leaning over him, and crawled on top of him. He pulled his arms back, startled, but he moved along with her either way.

He leaned back on his elbows, captured on all sides by her hands and knees, and stared up at her with raised bows. They sat like that for a few moments, gazing at each other as if put under a spell.

And perhaps they were, for the entire forest around them seemed to have disappeared. Their world consisted of nothing but their bodies and the water that lapped at Iorveth’s legs and clung to Gwen’s skin, refusing to let go just yet. Bottle green met amber, both darkened with lust, and all else melted away, until even their hearts seemed to beat as one. 

Until the half-elf moved closer, pressing her mouth to the freckles on his neck. He leaned his head back, and she began to suck on the tender piece of flesh. When he moaned loudly, Gwen couldn’t help but grin. The last thing she had expected was for him to be the type who would enjoy such a thing. She always thought herself weak when he did it to her… Now she couldn’t help but wonder whether he felt the same in that moment.

Then she noticed something pricking into her stomach. Glancing down, she realised Iorveth’s dick was hard, and she decided that he didn’t feel bad at all and was only enjoying the moment. Probably a bit too much. 

She had complete power over him, and he let her… He trusted her. So she had to trust him, too.

Nipping at the spot she had left on his throat, she reached down for his cock, slender fingers once more gripping it steadily, as if to compensate for the sudden trembling in her limbs. Whether it was out of anxiety or excitement, she did not know. Truthfully, she did not care either; she had already spent too much time thinking. Now she simply wanted to _do_.

Him, specifically. 

Iorveth glanced at her with startling clearness, despite the fact that he had been all but melting beneath her moments ago, though he would never admit it. He opened his mouth, but she did not let him finish – or begin, even. 

Before he could do so, she had positioned herself above him, holding his penis just so as she lowered her body on top of him. Perhaps having sex was liking riding a horse; something one never forgot to do, no matter how many years had passed by. The feeling of someone inside of her was one she had never truly forgotten either, or so it seemed. 

Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes as if that would banish the image of Elric hovering over her. During their first time, he had waited for her to adjust to him. The times after that, however, not so much… Once he had realised that he could get away with everything, he stopped taken her into consideration, instead only seeking to pleasure himself. 

If only she had been stronger. Perhaps if she hadn’t given in so easily, or if she had demanded more of him… Then perhaps he wouldn’t have used her as his plaything, as something to pass his time with. Perhaps she wouldn’t have given birth to his son. Perhaps she wouldn’t be here, struggling to give her heart to the person in front of her… 

Nails dug into her hips, dragging her out of her thoughts and back to reality. At the pool, with Iorveth. With Iorveth _in_ her. 

He was biting his lip and holding back a moan – she could see it in the tautness of his shoulders and neck – even as he tried to keep her grounded. In a soft voice he managed to ask, “Do you want to continue?”

The sight and sound of him almost made her heart burst, and it seemed that, in that moment, something inside of her finally decided to let go of the past. Even if it was just until the night reclaimed her. 

A small smile managed to find its way onto her face, and she placed her hands on his chest and rolled her hips once. She felt the rumbling beneath her palms even as the sound of his grunt reached her ears, telling her to repeat the motion. This time she couldn’t help but moan as well. In turn, Iorveth’s hips rose to meet hers, and she had to squeeze his chest in order to keep what little control she still had over her movements. 

To be so close to him after holding herself back for so long… It was a miracle she had retained her sanity this long to begin with. 

Iorveth raised a hand to hers, traced her fingers before he gently wrapped it around her wrist. Then he slid it upwards, leaving behind that invisible trail of fire she had almost gotten used to as he moved it past her elbow. There, it followed the pattern of the vines across her arm, along her shoulder, up her throat. His hand cupped her cheek for the blink of an eye before he moved it through her hair – which now almost reached past her jawline – to the back of her head. 

While he did this, the half-elf did not stop rocking her hips back and forth, although the rhythm waned even before it picked up as she watched him. His eye had dilated so much that the green around his iris had become a shade darker, she noted. They moaned occasionally, softly, as if they didn’t want to disturb anybody else. 

She went still when he pushed himself up with his free hand while pulling her down with the one caught in her hair. Their lips found each other and he continued to straighten his back until she all but sat in his lap, his arms wrapped around her to close the distance between them. In turn, Gwen encased his waist with her legs, ankles locked behind his back. Though he could not go quite as deep when they sat this way, the feeling of having their bodies connected and entwined in such a manner only added to their fusing. 

He breathed in her ear, sighs intertwined with moans, merging with her whimpers every time she lowered herself. The commander gave her free reign, trying his best to keep as still as possible. Once she had established her rhythm again, his hand once more found its way to her breast, kneading it even as his lips found her nipple. The other he removed from her hair and slid between their bodies. Gwen did not realise what he was doing until his thumb touched her clit again, giving it a few strokes as he watched her from below.

Almost as once and without thinking, the half-elf arched her back, pressing her chest harder against his face. Her throat bare, Iorveth’s mouth travelled up to suckle on her collar bone. Her whine was torn between pleasure and need, and she gripped his shoulders tightly. 

“Ior…” she managed in between gasps. 

He at once slowed his pace, and irritation rose within her, melting with her lust, which roared like a dragon. She snapped her head back and tried to scowl at him, but the playful glint in his eye robbed her of her voice. Mostly because she couldn’t remember ever having seen Iorveth be _playful_.

He wasn’t afraid of hurting her. He was _teasing_ her.

The corners of his lips curled upwards, and he circled her bundle of nerves lazily. She tightened her hold on him, bit her lip, and closed her eyes. With him watching her so closely, with that look on his face… There was no way she would give him what he wanted.

Except he repeated the movement, adding pressure and dragging it out this time. He tilted his head back and looked down at her, smugly, as he did it once more…

“Ah…” Her face bloomed, as though that dragon had just breathed fire, and she must have been glowing in embarrassment.

He nuzzled her then, the smell of his hair covering her in a blanket that reminded her of home, and murmured, “Don’t hold back, at least for me. I want to hear you.”

His voice, husky and rough with desire, saying those words right next to her ear… Her body began to move all by itself, and when he moaned, the sound of it ran straight to her core, forcing her to gasp again. He growled and picked up the pace, clutching her breast tightly. When she descended upon him, he thrust into her as he continued his ministrations between her legs.

When it felt like her stomach began to clench in that familiar way, Gwen whimpered both in pleasure and desperation. The wish to reach that climax while at the same time hoping this moment would never end.

And then the pressure on her clit disappeared, leaving her with an immense emptiness, and she froze yet again. That expression had never left Iorveth’s face, and only now did she realise he had been watching her this whole time. Gauging her reactions and acting accordingly, most likely. The bastard.

Still, the half-elf couldn’t help but smile. She leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, which she deepened by lifting a hand to the back of his head and pulling him closer. He returned the gesture with the same amount of vigour, nipping at her lower lip with a chuckle before finally giving in. 

In his moment of distraction, she began to roll her hips again, swallowing the noises he poured into her mouth. He in turn resumed the movements of his fingers across her clit. Abandoning her breast, he tugged her closer by sliding his arm around her, his skin like fire against hers. The move must have forced his other arm, the one caught between their bodies, into an even more uncomfortable position.

The turmoil inside of her, which felt like it took on the form of a spiral, began to tighten once more, and continued to do so at an alarming rate. She feared the thought of having it end so soon, and without having been able to give Iorveth anything in return, but she couldn’t help but welcome it either.

“Iorveth— I—” she managed in between moans, her voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper. She squeezed his shoulders again, as if that was the only thing keeping her together in that moment.

The unit leader silenced her by trying to continue the kiss and running his tongue along her teeth, teasing her. Adamant and breathing heavily, she turned her head to the side, ignoring him as he licked her cheek instead. Almost… she was almost there… That spiral was about to spring… She had to…

“No, I… I… Iorveth, I-I love you!” she called out when he lifted his hips to meet hers once more, and this time she felt herself coming undone at the seams. All the tension in her body gathered deep inside of her, where it was slowly released by crawling down her limbs, forcing her to curl her toes and dig her nails into Iorveth’s flesh.

His fingers faltered for a heartbeat, but when she tensed, closed her eyes tightly and held her breath, they quickly went on. The two of them had shared enough intimate moments for him to know just how to drag her ecstasy out for as long as possible. She had always felt closest to him during her climax, but with him actually inside of her… In this moment, she felt whole, unbroken.

Once her body had released all of its tension, Gwen fell against the elf like a sack of potatoes, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Iorveth pulled his hands back, though he did not make any move to remove her from him, and she opened her eyes to look up at him from her position on his shoulder. Only now did she realise the words that she had spoken in the heat of the moment. 

“Iorveth…?” Her voice trailed off.

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at something in front of him, though he didn’t seem to be registering anything. Gwen watched him, her heart – which hadn’t even had the chance to calm down yet – once more jumping in her chest. When he finally lowered his gaze to meet hers, he said, “Is it true?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Yes.”

She couldn’t read his emotions, and she felt powerless as she watched him. Waited for him to say something - anything. 

He never did respond. 

Before she knew it, she was lying on her back with her knees slung over Iorveth’s shoulders like a pair of trousers hung over a branch to dry, and he pressed himself into her again. Her body was still sensitive from the attention it had just received, and so she let out a yelp. A trembling hand shot out to grab a fistful of his hair, and she strained to lift her shoulders off the ground while she pulled him closer to her so that she could smash her lips against his. 

Her other hand moved to his behind, gripped it tightly, and was slightly taken aback by the moan the move earned her. She had no time to react, though, for Iorveth had already started moving in and out of her at a slow pace, though the force with which he slammed into her caused her to shift across the ground. The pebbles beneath her dug into her back, and she cried out once more, though she wasn’t sure whether it was in pain or pleasure. She then decided it was both and slackened her hold on him as she let the feelings wash over her. 

Her legs slid down his arms and found his hips, where she wrapped them around him again. At the back of her mind she realised that he now stood in the water, fucking her as she lay at the edge of the pool. She stretched her arms out above her and arched her back, pushing him away from her, and he planted a hand on either side of her waist. 

By now he was beginning to pant as well. He sped up, matching speed with power, hitting some spot deep inside of her over and over again, until that damned coil reappeared. He lifted one hand and snaked it in between them to find that button of hers. Though the area was still tender, causing the muscles in her legs to twitch occasionally, she found herself adding to the noises with which he filled the air.

“I—I can’t…” she said in between gasps, “…not again…”

He offered her a lopsided grin, his face glistening with sweat, and said, “Yes you can.”

Even just the sight of that smile managed to egg her on, combined with his grunts of effort and bliss. But what really did it was him leaning forward and whispering, “Do it again. Do it for me.”

Her hair clung to her face. Her skin stuck to his. Stones poked her in the back. Her feet were touching cold water. Even so, she let out moan after high-pitched moan, each one louder than the previous. Somehow she managed to stop her eyelids from closing, and she watched how Iorveth watched her intently, his teeth visible as he bit his lower lip. The hand beside her waist now held onto her body, fingers pressing between her ribs, perhaps trying to keep himself grounded this time. The other continued to circle her clit, never once pausing, until there was only a flurry of euphoria. 

Higher, higher she went, even higher than last time. It was right there, but she clenched her hands into fists, tightened her abdominal region, curled her toes, held her breath. Lying as still as possible, she held onto that edge for as long as possible, squint at the elf. Adamant to keep him in her sight. 

“I… lo—” he began through gritted teeth, but by then he had already lost her, as indicated by the released breath and the long, low moan that interrupted him. 

Refusing to close her eyes, she watched him as he watched her, temporarily incapable of feeling embarrassment. The pleasure that surged through her encompassed her very being, and everything except herself and Iorveth, his body moving against hers, faded away, if only for a short while. Foreseeing the sensitivity after climaxing again, he came to a slow stop before it got that far. 

Gwen took in a few ragged breaths as she tried to steady herself. Her body shook all over, and she knew that, if she tried to stand, she would surely fall over. With a sigh, she simply lay there, staring at the treetops towering above her, reminding her of where she was to begin with. She waited until she could hear the sounds of the forest over that of her heart beating in her ears. Then, before _he_ knew it, she was on top of him, pressing his wrists to the ground above his head. Her face hovered over his, and she stared into his eye as though she were trying to hypnotise him.

“Tell me, _commander_ ,” the half-elf whispered with a trembling voice, “do you not wish to be dominated for once?”

She felt the slight tremor that ran through him and couldn’t help but smirk. Though he could easily break her hold on him, he stayed put and merely watched her, his eye still just as dark as before. That was something she would have to remedy, wasn’t it? 

When she positioned herself above him once more, the commander faltered, the challenge in his expression giving way to something entirely different and unknown to the half-elf. Either way, she took him into her for a third time, immediately rolling with her hips and watching him slacken beneath her.

“Right now, you’re no commander. You’re just Iorveth. You’re nothing, you’re nobody. You’re _mine_.” 

His breathing hitched, cutting off the groan that had been building up. The quickened pace of his heartrate was visible in a vein in the side of his neck, beneath a black leaf which pulsed in time with the beating of his heart. Only now did she notice the redness of his cheeks and throat. The dishevelled state of his body – his hair sticking out at odd angles and marks from her nails and teeth and lips adorning his flesh – added to her sense of satisfaction.

This feeling, a sort of confidence that came from the knowledge that she could bring _him_ pleasure, warmed her insides. And she knew that, as much as she enjoyed bringing him down to this level, he himself savoured the moments in which he was stripped of his title and his duty. When he was simply a man sharing an intimate moment with his lover.

She bent over him as she took in as much of him as possible, felt him go deeper than ever before, and found herself moaning against his ear. A breathy chuckle left her lips when he responded in kind, bucking his hips, and she let him, but not without tracing the edge of his pointy ear with the tip of her tongue. 

Iorveth let out a strangled choke and shuddered, his hands flexing against her hold though he held himself back. “S-stop…”

Stilling her movements, Gwen pulled back enough to look him in the face with her brows furrowed and panic welling up inside of her. He could break free from her if she were doing something wrong, right? What had happened? What had she done? “What is it? Have I done something? Are you hurt?”

“You don’t have to—”

The tension seeped out of her. “But I want to take care of you, too.”.

He laughed a throaty laugh that made her want to interrupt him with a kiss. “I do not need—”

_Now_ she interrupted him by lifting her rump, dragging the movement out until she could almost feel him slip out of her and she took him in again. The elf let out a huff as though blowing his fringe out his eye, though it sounded strained and forced, especially when his legs shook beneath her. 

“Yes, yes you do,” Gwen replied and she pressed her lips to his. 

When he returned the kiss, he relaxed and stopped holding himself in while she began to ride him again. She heightened her speed and he grunted, timing his own movements to grind into her whenever she descended upon him. 

It didn’t take much longer before he broke free from her grasp after all. He spread one arm out to the side with a clenched fist, pressing it into the dirt, whereas the other reached up to rake his fingers through strands of her hair. Effectively deepening the kiss, her tongue rolled against his in time with their hips, coming together and breaking apart over and over again, as naturally as the leaves that fell to the ground in autumn.

Once she could not go any faster, he moved his head to the side, lips parted and chest rising and falling. The half-elf caressed the freckles on his throat and shoulders, stroking the scars littered across his torso. She continued the kiss along his jawline, and, when Iorveth let out a string of moans, felt it grit beneath her lips.

Nails dug into the back of her skull, and the others found her buttocks. Then he inhaled sharply and held his breath. The body beneath her tensed, and though his grasp on her hurt, she simply went on, whispering sweet nothings to him and trying not to let her voice sound strained. 

He thrust hard, suddenly and irregularly, and let out a cry as he emptied himself inside of her for the very first time. Tenderly brushing her hand through his hair, she rode him through his climax and accompanied him through its aftermath, rolling her hips until he stilled her by grabbing her waist. 

Lying on top of him, she rested her ear on his chest and listened to his racing heart. Even if she hadn’t done so, she would have been able to feel how it thrummed through his entire body, into hers. He was still breathing heavily when she raised her head to take in his face, serene despite the drops of sweat sliding down his blushing cheeks and into his hairline, his ear, down his neck.

Only then did he open his eye to shoot her a sideways glance, though he quickly closed it again. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Gwen said before she blew her hair out of her eyes. “But I wanted to.”

He laughed then, a hearty laugh that came from somewhere deep inside of him. A place that was probably not reached very often.

They lay there for a while longer. He played with her hair. She drew patterns across his breast. Their sweat dried up and they began to shiver. His heart settled back into its usual rhythm. She felt his cock slip out of her. They knew they had to clean themselves soon.

“I…” Iorveth began after a few more moments. A rumble filled Gwen’s ear when he hummed. “We should clean up. Your blood…”

She nodded, but when she tore herself away from him, somehow she felt like she was opening a healing wound. It left her strangely empty, but she ignored it as she slid off of him and into the water. He followed her, and she watched as he cleaned his dick, now small and limp, of the blood and mucous that covered it before she, too, washed herself. They did not speak while they purged their bodies of any signs of sexual activity, though they did not ignore each other.

Just before they left the pool, Iorveth wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. He cupped her scarred stomach with two large hands, buried his nose in the nape of her neck, and inhaled deeply. From the corner of her eyes, she noted that his cheeks were still flushed. 

Once he let go of her, they climbed out of the pool and gathered their clothes to get dressed. Then they made their way back home, their little fingers hooked as they ascended the hill together in silence.


	28. Clash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist joins the elves in their first battle against the humans after the death of Foltest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALLELUJAH! I'M BACK! And ya'll can hit me as much as you want for my absence, which ended up being much longer than I thought it would be. Long story short: after Nano I was too tired to write, and when I finally had the motivation again, uni hit with me with a truckload of homework. Don't worry, I would never forsake Iorveth bby (or Ivor, for that matter). I know exactly what I want to do, just need to find the time and energy to do this. 
> 
> Anywho, what's new with you guys?! :'D Anything interesting happen in your lives while I was away and not there to cheer ya'll up with some Iorveth angst? I myself became an editor for a gaming website! It's a great exercise for my social anxiety. I've had at least one panic attack since joining, so I'm quite glad for this experience (if you haven't noticed, I'm a bit of a masochist. Hence why I write angst). 
> 
> But no more dilly dallying! Off to the chapter!

A few days later, Gwen found herself at the waterfall once more – though this time on the other side, at the top. She also had an elf standing at either side of her, hands holding their weapons ready, their eyes trained on Iorveth and the vatt’ghern Gwynbleidd. The latter held their commander by his bound wrists, pushing him along until they stood in front of the burly man whom they had considered their ally. 

While they waited for the signal, Gwen had enough time to blush at the thought that Letho had been here all this time. Had he also been there when they…? Iorveth had _known_ he hung around here! What had possibly gone through his head when he had approached her then and there? It wouldn’t have surprised her had he not been thinking anything to begin with.

Worrying about it wouldn’t fix anything now, so instead she tried to concentrate on the matter at hand – keeping Iorveth safe, yet again. He sure seemed to like putting himself in danger a lot these days, did he not? Then again, this was _Iorveth_ she was thinking of. There wasn’t anything he _wouldn’t_ do to further his cause. 

“Who are you?” Gwynbleidd asked.

“You really don’t remember?” Letho replied, though he didn’t sound like he actually cared. 

What did he mean? Had Geralt and Letho known each other before?

“I’m sick of that question.”

“So it’s true. And here I feared that you would ruin it all. I am Letho of Gullet. I’m a Kingslayer.”

“Joke’s over. Unbind me!” Iorveth commanded through gritted teeth, sounding angry and bitter. Letho only glanced at him before looking back at Geralt.

“Tell me who you’re working for, and the elf is yours,” the vatt’ghern said.

For a split second, Gwen heard herself inhale sharply. He wouldn’t, would he…? 

“We work for ourselves.”

“We?”

Letho nodded once. “The Kingslayers.”

It was like listening to two people who had never known the existence of emotions talk to each other. They spoke plainly, their faces blank, their voices even.

“Demavend, Foltest… Who else? Who the hell are you?” Geralt asked, finally raising his voice ever so slightly. 

Demavend. That’s right, this man had killed Demavend. Shouldn’t she have been grateful to him, for ridding this world of the person who had killed her mother? 

_You are the one who killed your mother._

Shaking her head, Gwen tried to concentrate, but her mind wandered off again. That day… she had gone to the market. Usually it was her mother who would go, but this time she hadn’t been able to. She hadn’t been feeling well, and had asked her to go instead. Since Gwen hadn’t been able to refuse, the half-elf had left on her own, with nothing but a list of ingredients her mother had given her.

Except she had never heard of half the products on the list and had had no way of knowing where to find them. By the time she had purchased all of them, she returned home, only to find the remains of the houses in her street. A group of soldiers had gathered where once her home had once stood. When she recognised them to be Demavend’s men, she had turned around and fled.

The recurring nightmare was nothing more than wishful thinking. She had never tried to save her mother, had never gone to confirm her wellbeing. No, the very moment she had taken in the sight of the entire street burned to the ground… That feeling of dread, its cold tendrils coiling around her limbs, was one that Gwen would never forget.

Neither was the fact that she had never gathered the courage to find her mother to begin with. 

Everything that had happened to her in her life – it was punishment for that one moment in which she would abandon the most important person in her life. 

“Enough of this farce!” Iorveth’s voice cut through the mist of her thoughts which threatened to weigh her down. Her head snapped up again. “Vedrai! Enn’le!”

She felt guilty for having missed the rest of the conversation and watched as the elves who had stood next to her rushed forward. They lifted their swords and aimed their bows.

Even before the battle could begin, arrows flew from out of nowhere and impaled a few of the Scoia’tael. Gwen’s brain couldn’t keep up as she watched them fall. Then, just as suddenly, screams and yells came from the other side of the small clearing. Human soldiers rushed out of the bushes, weapons held high. 

Gwen recognised the commander of the Blue Stripes at once, though she had seen him only once in her life, and even that had been from a distance. He charged towards them alongside his men, taking down more elves as he approached them. From where she stood, it was obvious he had his sight set on Iorveth. 

Iorveth, who in that moment was too busy discussing something with Geralt. Something that must have been so very important that he just had to take his eye off the sudden battle. By then Roche was already gaining on him, and the half-elf could hear her heart beating loudly.

All of a sudden the sound of metal clashing against metal overpowered that sound, causing her ears to ring. She ignored it and stared Roche dead in the eye, gritting her teeth together. The muscles in her arms strained against her armour as she pushed her blade against his. 

“Impressive,” the human commented, though his face remained blank. He did not look all that impressed. “Do I know you?” 

He pulled back, but she went after him at once. Their swords met over and over again, the noise of the fight bouncing off the trees that surrounded them. Neither of them gained any ground. Her arms trembled, but she kept them up. 

All around her people shouted, arrows were loosed and swords clashed. Clenching her teeth, she ignored all of it and had only eyes for the man before her. He raised his blade again and again, pushing against her with what could have been all his might. Still, she would not budge. She refused to.

An arrow whizzed past her face and strands of black hair fluttered to the ground in front fo her. The half-elf froze, her breath catching in her throat. 

Roche’s sword bit into her side. With a yelp, she rolled away from his steel. She checked the wound with a hand that came back only barely covered in red. Nothing more than a scratch, then.

When she looked up, she saw Roche advancing towards Iorveth once more. Gwynbleidd was still busy unsheathing the commander’s sword for him, however. Though Iorveth’s eye was on his enemy, he was still unarmed. 

The half-elf leapt in the human’s direction, blade pointing forward. She would have pierced him had he not whirled around and thrown his sword up at the very last moment. Instead, her weapon glanced off of his. The movement sent a tremor up her arms, but she bit through it.

Still, she had succeeded. From the corner of her eyes she saw Iorveth approach them, sword finally in hand. He might even have hit Roche, had he not yelled loudly as he rushed towards them.

“Die!” he shouted, and the human turned to meet his attack head-on. 

Tightening her grip on her blade, she made to go after them, when another arrow flew by her. This one scratched the side of her ear and she winced as she turned towards the perpetrator. A soldier stood there, his dark eyes on her, a challenge visible in his gaze. 

With a growl, she made her way towards him. He quickly knocked another arrow and loosed it, but she jumped to the side before quickening her pace. The guard dropped his bow and fumbled with the sword at his belt. By the time he had unsheathed it, he lay on the ground, unmoving.

From behind her, Gwen heard a crash. When she turned around, she noted that Geralt and Letho, who had locked swords moments ago, had disappeared. From somewhere below she could still hear the noises of battle. 

Before she could figure out what had happened, however, somebody had stumbled against her. Her body tensed and she strained her muscles, fingers clawed, when she looked for the perpetrator. An elf had crashed into her, blood covering half of her face. She barely even looked alive. 

A yell and the rustling of a nearby bush filled the air. A dh’oine with his blade raised appeared, though he stopped when he saw his prey was no longer alone. The elf slid to the ground with Gwen’s help, and she stepped in front of her, weapon ready.

The guard charged, but she easily parried the blow. He surprised her by pulling a dagger from behind his back, aiming for the half-elf’s side. She flung her foot against his knee, which buckled. Falling to the ground, the human dropped the knife, and was unable to block the kick to his head. 

With that out of the way, Gwen looked at the unconscious elf on the ground. She couldn’t exactly leave her on her own, could she? Though she had no idea where she should bring her. Perhaps back to the camp? Or should the Scoia’tael regroup? A glance in Iorveth’s direction told her he was still busy with Roche. She would have to take matters into her own hands, then.

Lifting the elf onto her left shoulder, she made her way through the clearing with her sword in her free hand. The next person she met was another elf, one who has just finished off another guard. He relaxed visibly when he saw her. 

“We must regroup and push back,” Gwen said. She nodded in the direction of the others elves fighting nearby. 

The elf nodded, and together they made quick work of the few remaining soldiers. Not much longer they had become a group of six, of which two were unable to fight. 

“Where to next?” a young girl asked of her, her bow in her hands and her eyes on the lookout for enemies. 

It almost surprised Gwen as to how natural it felt to take on the role of their leader. She had never been in such a position before, yet as three pairs of eyes settled on her, her mind did the rest by itself. “We fall back towards the ruins and continue from there.”

Her newfound power was short-lived, however. Just as they arrived there, Roche yelled something at his men. Almost at once, the humans pulled back and ran off, disappearing into the forest. Though Iorveth tried to pursue them, he soon seemed to think better of it and returned. 

“Gwynbleidd and Letho fell down into the ruins,” he stated once he had come to stand before them. “I will go and see how they have fared. In the meantime, return to camp and see to it that the wounded are taken care of. Ele’yas, I assume you can take care of this?”

“Yes, commander,” one of the elves Gwen hadn’t found replied. He lifted a hand to push the short dark hair that clung to his skin out of his face. 

With that, the unit leader left them. Ele’yas wasted no time in barking orders at the rebels, which they followed without pause or hesitation. With the elf still slung over her shoulder, Gwen followed the others back towards the camp where the others were already waiting, trying her best to ignore the weight resting on her. The burden grew heavier with every step, but she remained silent about it. 

The first to greet them as they approached the camp in silence was Ivor, who had most likely been watching out for them. He jogged towards them with a few more elves who helped carry the wounded. Ivor himself made his way towards the half-elf, his brows lowered as he took in the state of both her and the woman she carried.

With a grunt, he lifted the injured elf from her shoulder, after which Gwen released the breath she had been holding. She placed a hand against her throbbing side, which had begun to ache during the short trip. When she looked down at it again, she was relieved to see the bleeding hadn’t gotten much worse. 

Ivor nodded at her bloody hand. “You should get that checked out, too.”

With nothing more than a nod, she followed them through the rows of trees and tents towards the medics. The sound of elves talking was reduced to nothing more than a buzz in the background as she focussed on making sure those who needed it the most were helped first. Only when those were lying down and receiving treatment did she allow someone to have a look at her own wounds. After all, she only had the scratch on her ear and the cut on her side. 

She almost wanted to make a fuss out of it when the young man kneeling in front of her wanted to touch her ear. Almost. Without thinking, she had pulled her face back, out of his reach. At the look of confusion on his face, however, she quickly bowed her head in his direction. He quickly cleaned the cut and applied some salve to it – and she tried her best not to flinch again – after which he asked her to undress her torso. When he applied the salve to the wound on her side, she had to grit her teeth and dig her nails into her palms. He deemed her ear better off without coverage, though he did dress her side. 

Before she knew it, she was on her feet and clothed once more. Continuing to ignore the noise of people reassuring each other, or complaining about their pain, Gwen looked around. Her eyes spotted Ivor a few rows of beds down, helping a vaguely familiar elf hold down another wounded soldier.

“Can I help?” she asked once she stood behind him. 

Ivor did not look up as he held down the legs of an elf whose arm looked like it might fall off any moment now. Instead, he nodded at the poor soul’s proper arm, which was now being held back rather inefficiently by the nurse trying to help him. As Gwen knelt beside the body, she gripped his writhing arm and pressed it down with all her might. The smell of blood was thick in the air and she almost gagged. 

The elf screamed at the top of his lungs when the medic began to remove the arm. Wincing, Gwen looked away, her gaze meeting that of Ivor, who looked as pale as she most likely did. That did not stop the sound from reaching her ears, though, and so instead she closed her eyes and tried her best to imagine being somewhere else. Perhaps somewhere with trickling water, a small waterfall, hushed whispers…

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to work. By the time the nurse was done with his arm, the man had fainted and Gwen’s stomach was roiling at what she smelled and heard. Despite that, she and Ivor continued to hold the limbs down. When she dared to look, she took in the amount of blood that was everywhere, the exposed bones and tendrils and muscle. She managed to turn away from the scene just in time to throw up on the grass beside the blood-stained bedroll. 

Beside her, Ivor shifted and placed a hand on her back. The action did nothing to subdue the tremors as her body continued to force her to empty her stomach in such a violent manner. She winced every time her abdomens clenched, her side complaining whenever it did.

“Are you all right?” Ivor asked once she seemed to have calmed down. 

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Gwen let out a breath and nodded. 

Before she could worry about seeing the unconscious man’s wound again, yells appeared from where they had entered the camp. Without another word, Ivor got up and held a hand out for the half-elf. She accepted it and together they made their way towards the commotion. 

Iorveth stood surrounded by a group of elves, his arms crossed and the lines in his face hardened. His green eye flickered towards Gwen when she approached with Ivor, though he did nothing to address them as they came closer. More newcomers came to a halt beside them, until they themselves had become part of the crowd as well.

It didn’t take long before Gwen caught enough bits and pieces of the conversations raging on around her to figure out what had happened. Turning to Ivor, who looked at her with those bright eyes of his, she said, “Flotsam is burning.”


	29. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist prepares to once again set out with the Scoia'tael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're getting deeper into the story of the game! This will be a short chapter, because I feel like the next chapter will be lengthy enough on its own (also this way I can update sooner!).

“What are you talking about?” Ivor asked.

“Gwynbleidd has followed Letho to Flotsam, who is planning on fleeing to Aedirn. In the meantime, however, the dh’oine have begun laying their hands on any non-human they can find,” Iorveth said before Gwen could open her mouth. He gestured to a group of elves who stood beside him and the half-elf thought she recognised a few of them. “Fortunately, the Scoia’tael in Lobinden managed to escape in time, although they tell me Cedric is missing. For now, I will take a small unit with me to the ruins, where we will wait for vatt’ghern to return.”

“What would you have us do?” the man Iorveth had called Ele’yas before asked. 

“You and your men will be coming with me.” 

The elf nodded, and Gwen couldn’t help but wonder how she did not remember seeing him before. If he was high enough in the hierarchy to lead his own group, then shouldn’t she have encountered him before? Then again, it wasn’t as if she had met all the elves in the camp to begin with. 

Iorveth suddenly looked in her direction. “Ivor, find Owain and make sure as many soldiers as possible are ready to move out if need be.”

“Will do,” Ivor replied at once. He shot her a small smile before he turned and left. 

Now that she was on her own again, Gwen couldn’t help but feel a fluttering in her stomach, and it wasn’t the good kind. She lifted a hand to tug at strands of her hair by her ear, a mannerism she still hadn’t let go of, although her ears no longer bothered her. At least, most of the time. 

When she looked up, scolding herself for letting her mind wander, her eyes met that of Iorveth. Suddenly she wanted to take a step toward him, to be closer to him, but the bodies surrounding her made that impossible. 

“Gwenfrewi,” he began, and the feeling of something flitting about inside of her intensified. Had he ever called her by her full name before, like this, in public? Did that matter? What was she, a love-struck child? “You should accompany Ivor.” 

_To get you out of the way._

_No, to make me feel comfortable._

She, too, nodded and left. Her side stung in time with her steps when she quickened her pace. Though she had no idea in which direction Ivor had gone, she knew that he had to find Owain, who was most likely at the training ring. As she travelled through the camp, she made sure to avoid the commotion of the area with the wounded.   
“…for Aedirn,” was the first thing she heard when she neared her goal. 

“What is with Aedirn?” Gwen asked, stepping into the clearing designated for their sparring and training sessions. 

“Already back for another round, are you?” Owain asked, the amusement in his voice almost audible. 

“Back for what?” Ivor wondered out loud, his thin brows furrowed. 

Gwen ignored both of their remarks. “What were you talking about, what’s ‘for Aedirn’?” 

“I’m not entirely sure yet, but I believe we might be leaving for Aedirn sooner rather than later,” Ivor replied.

“Because of the vatt’ghern?” Or because of the mysterious battle? Though what did that have to do with any of this?

“No. At least, not just because of him. There is a woman waiting for Iorveth’s help in Upper Aedirn,” the bald elf said with chuckle, his lips forming a grin. 

Was the old fart… _laughing_? While Gwen stared at him, the other jabbed his elbow into the stomach of the master-at-arms. The old elf doubled over, but that didn’t wipe the look off his face that told her he found the situation quite funny. 

“That’s not what he means,” Ivor said, holding his hands up. “Iorveth has a… friend of sorts, Saskia, leading a rebellion in Upper Aedirn. A rebellion Iorveth means to join soon. However, there is no need for you to worry.”

“Worry? Why would I be worried?” 

“Because you and Iorveth…” her friend began, but he stopped when she narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to finish the sentence.

“Because you’ve become the so-called expert of Aedirn, that’s why,” Owain provided rather helpfully. 

“What does that have to do with this rebellion though?” Gwen had never felt this clueless in her entire life.

The trainer gestured with his hands before he crossed his arms before his chest. “Perhaps it might make you insecure, knowing there are other women in Iorveth’s life.”

“Oh, that. I believe I remember hearing something like this before.” Now it was her turn to allow a smirk to spread across her face. “What? Was I supposed to become jealous? Are you disappointed now?” 

While Owain lifted his shoulders, Ivor piped up. “But if you knew this, then why did you look so shocked?” 

“Shocked? Because I didn’t know Owain had it in him to tease someone in such a blatant manner!” Gwen shouted and threw her arms into the air, as if that explained everything. 

“Never mind that. Let us get going, before we waste all our time bickering like this.” Ivor’s face hardened as he pulled the leader out of himself, and Gwen immediately straightened her back. “Owain, you take care of your students. I trust you know what to do?”

“Aye,” the elf responded. Any cheerfulness in his demeanour disappeared, and the master-at-arms returned. He left without another word.

Ivor followed his lead, except he went in the opposite direction. The half-elf hurried after him and asked, “What are you going to do? Do we bring everyone who can fight with us?”

“No.” He shook his head. “We need to leave behind enough people to defend the camp, not to mention the wounded. Though we will have to gather enough soldiers for whatever Iorveth has planned.”

Biting back a wince when her hair brushed against the cut on her ear, Gwen nodded. 

As if on cue, her companion said, “I think it’s best if you stay here. With your wounds… As well as your competence, you might be needed here.”

“What? No!” Gwen stared at him as they walked, evading trees as they moved closer to the busy tracks of the camp. There was no way that she would remain here, waiting for them to return. What if they didn’t return at all? “I’m not going to stay behind like some… like some leftover warrior!” 

A few nearby elves looked up at the ruckus she must have been causing, but she kept her gaze fixed on the man by her side. Though he refused to meet her eyes, dimples appeared in his cheeks as he tried to hold back a smile. What could he possibly find so amusing about her words? 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it being a ‘leftover warrior’… You do realise that Owain is often the one to protect the camp?” 

“What do you think he is? I can take him all day, any day!” Gwen spat. She had wanted to sound playful, but realised her words had come out harsher than she had intended. 

Ivor seemed to have noticed, for he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side, away from the path they had been walking on. Out of the way of the others, who continued to glance in their direction as they passed. 

“Gwen, we might have to leave for Aedirn,” he whispered. His grey eyes bore into her own. Usually there were so warm, surprisingly so for an elf, but now they had taken on a distant and cold look. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

His voice wavered at the end, and suddenly Gwen understood.

No… Not distant and cold… _Worry._

Even after realising that, she heard herself mutter, “No. What _does_ that mean?”

“Gwen.” He sounded exasperated now. “I know about what happened with Stennis. Iorveth told me.” 

The half-elf couldn’t even remember having said anything about it to Iorveth. How…? 

“You _can’t_ go back to Aedirn. If you do, and Stennis finds you… And there is a high probability that he will be there, too.”

Without her permission, a smile wormed its way to her lips. “Even if I do, I’ll confront him not as his bastard great, great, great grandaunt, but as a Scoia’tael. I will not allow him, or anybody else for that matter, to dictate what I can or cannot do.”

“Not even Iorveth?” Ivor asked as he let go of her arm. 

Her grin only grew wider. “That depends.”

He stared at her for a few more moments before he sighed and stepped onto the path again. It seemed the matter had been settled. 

Even though nothing was confirmed yet, and even though it might end up being dangerous for her, Gwen couldn’t help but feel elated at the prospect of meeting Stennis again. She hoped that she could give him a piece of her mind, after that so-called ‘second chance’ of his. After he had sold her like she was some whore. 

Clenching her hands into fists, she ground her teeth together in an attempt to stop the anger from welling up inside of her. Oh yes, she would get her revenge sooner or later.

~~~~

Expectant eyes were on their leader as he paced back and forth in front of them.

“ _Brodyr a chwiorydd_ , it would seem that our time has come! For a while now, I have been talking of a war in Aedirn, but I have kept you in the dark concerning the rest. Today, finally, we shall leave. I have already sent Ele’yas on his way with his unit to our destination by foot, whereas the rest of us will follow them by boat. By prison barge, to be precise.”

The crowd roared, elves pumping their fists into the air as adrenaline began to flow through their veins. Even Gwen could not deny the effect of his words on her body. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from moving along with the others. 

“Where in Aedirn lies our destination?” one voice called from the masses. 

“In Upper Aedirn lies a dwarven town, Vergen. We will make our way there in order to join the rebellion of none other than the Virgin of Aedirn, Saskia the Dragonslayer! She is in need of reinforcements while she readies herself to defend the area from Henselt’s army. For this purpose, we shall capture the prison barge in Flotsam.”

“What about the massacre? Is Flotsam not burning?”

Iorveth cast his eye down before he waved his hands about in meaningless gestures. “There is naught we can do for Flotsam. All we _can_ do is make sure that there is at least one piece of land where Aen Seidhe can live freely.”

“Then… what about the vatt’gherns? Letho? Gwynbleidd?”

“Letho is on his way to Aedirn as we speak. I fear the Scoia’tael aiding Serrit and Auckes in the Pontar Valley will pay for my mistakes with their lives.”

Elves muttered and shook their heads. Through the murmuring, Gwen caught bits and pieces of conversations they were having amongst themselves. A recurring question seemed to be that, if one vatt’ghern had betrayed them, why should they trust the other?

The commander most likely heard them as well, for he went on by stating, “Though I now realise that perhaps we should never have trusted Letho to begin with, he has taken the sorceress of Gwynbleidd with him. From what I have seen, Gwynbleidd claims to be neutral and wishes only to save his friend. A goal worthy of praise, if you ask me.”

That did not do much to stop the complaints from going around. If anything, they seemed to grow even louder, until Gwen could not understand anything the elves were saying. They quietened down, however, when Iorveth held his hands up into the air, palms facing the crowd.

“If it helps with your doubts, then you may keep an eye on him and report any suspicious activities to me,” he called out.

Though most of the elves nodded in response, some still did not look convinced, but there was nothing they could do about it. They had no time to voice any more complaints, either, for by then their leader had already commenced barking orders. 

“Ivor! I presume you have put together a group of able warriors for the journey, and that Owain has fulfilled his part as well?”

Ivor had been standing at the front of the group, and he stepped forward at the sound of his name. “Yes. You have but to say the word and we will be on our way. Owain has made sure the camp will be defended properly in our absence.”

“Good. Then let us set out. We are to meet Gwynbleidd near Flotsam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:   
> Brodyr a chwiorydd: brothers and sisters (Welsh)


	30. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist does stuff and kills people. Nothing new there.
> 
> [Seriously considering stopping these lol]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings super long ass chapter in your face* This chapter has almost EVERYTHING. It is also the final chapter of the part one of this story, if this story consisted of parts. Or at the very least the first book of a series. I mean, with this chapter we've officially hit 100k words. 100k!!! That is officially the length of an actual novel and I'm no where near done, I think. So yey? I have to admit that, for a split second, I actually did consider making this an actual "part one", marking this story as complete and taking a short break before continuing with a second part. Then I realised that would never work and within one week I'd be writing the next chapter (in fact, I've already started it, so there you have it) so I decided against it. More yey? Anyways, let me know what you think of it. I love all of you for your reads and kudos and reviews, even though I don't say it often enough~
> 
> Chapter title is the Alesso Remix of Pressure by Starkiller, Alex Kenji and Alesso.

The smell of wood burning became stronger as they neared Flotsam. Gwen held her breath, holding her sword ready, her eyes never leaving her immediate surroundings. From the corner of her eye she saw the smoke that covered the town like a thin blanket, and she wondered what it must feel like for those inside who still lived. Though not completely dark, much of the day’s light would fail to reach the ground. That, combined with the fact that breathing would become increasingly difficult and the sounds of humans on the hunt for them… Gwen tightened the grip on her sword and swallowed.

Ivor, who moved beside her with his bow held up, turned to look at her. When she didn’t react, he moved his gaze elsewhere. They were getting closer to the city walls. On the other side of it, screams and crying could be heard. Blades clashing. Fire burning. The tell-tale signs of a massacre. Of any battle, really. It seemed that, no matter how often humans witnessed it, they never got enough of it. 

Still, since they had met no resistance on their way here, the guards must have been too busy slaughtering any non-human they could get their hands on to worry about a possible Scoia’tael ambush. They certainly were in for a treat. Gwen grit her teeth together, felt the excitement of the incoming battle rush through her. 

When they came upon the town’s outer wall, they turned towards the south, away from the river. By now, the other units – Iorveth’s and Eanvedd’s – should have reached the cliff where they would part ways. Eanvedd, together with the vatt’ghern, would attack the barge from the harbour whereas Iorveth was to attack it from the river. 

Ivor, however, was to take his unit through one of the main gates. While Iorveth and Eanvedd picked off most of the resistance at the harbour, Ivor would take down the rests and any potential reinforcements. That way, they would create an ambush within an ambush… Or something like that. 

Remaining within the shadows cast by the stone wall, the elves made their way around the burning town. Some of the soldiers flinched at the cries coming from the other side of it, while others remained stone-faced, their lips pressed into thin lines and their brows furrowed. Gwen was surprised at the unfamiliar that warmed her at the sight of her companions, but pushed the thought to the side.

Just before the unit, walking in single-file, rounded the corner, Ivor stopped the rest by holding out an arm to the side. He pressed a finger to his lips and gestured towards the corner before tapping a finger to his ear. 

Gwen tilted her head and held her breath.

“Shouldn’t we be in there, helpin’ the others?” a gruff voice muttered. It almost couldn’t be heard over the noise of the massacre. 

“Nah. Our job is ta make sure nobody gets in’r out. ‘s boring, but this way we get the easy prey,” a second voice replied. 

“S’pose yer right,” the first one said. 

No other voices spoke up. Ivor waited for a few more moments before tightening his grip on his bow, holding it battle-ready. The sign was obvious enough, and the others mirrored his movements. When he nodded and received a nod from all of them, he stepped from behind their hiding spot and loosed the arrow even before Gwen could join him. 

A cry tore its way from a throat, though it soon died down into a gurgle. By the time the half-elf had left her cover, the second guard lay on the ground as well. Two others, who had been playing cards at a table beside the large gate, had gotten up in the meantime with their swords drawn. Arrows sprouted from their faces before any of the Scoia’tael swordsmen could enter the battle. 

“Remind me why we haven’t secured world domination yet?” Gwen murmured to Ivor as he passed her by, but the elf only shot her a small smile before he made his way through the gate. Since they had no way of knowing when the others had arrived at their posts they had to hurry up, and who knew what awaited them inside Flotsam. 

Just before she crossed the threshold of the city, however, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Flashes from what seemed like a lifetime ago flitted through her mind, but she steeled herself against them and whatever else she might see next. Loredo couldn’t do anything to her with her comrades surrounding her. 

And it couldn’t be much worse than last time they had ambushed Flotsam, right?

How wrong she was. 

It seemed like what little of the non-human community was left had been strewn about the streets. There were even piles of bodies, the putrid smell of death heavy wherever they went. Flies were everywhere, annoying the living more than they did the dead. 

One of the Squirrels – it was Lorcán, who had also gone to the river that time – stumbled to the ground and threw up while another – Maeve – knelt down beside him, a hand on his back. The others shot him sympathetic looks, whereas Gwen continued to take in their surroundings. The corpses and the smouldering remains of cottages were familiar to her. Too familiar. She tightened her grip on her sword and swallowed hard. 

A hand rested upon her shoulder, and she jerked her head to the side. Ivor stood behind her, his head tilted slightly and his warm, grey eyes taking in her features, a silent question in the air. She nodded before rolling her shoulder out of his grasp and he dropped his arm to his side. 

“Come, we must go,” Ivor said, his attention fixed upon Lorcán as the poor boy got to his feet again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he did so. “We have no idea what is waiting for us on our way to the harbour.” 

As if on cue, shouts and yells came from the docks. Their heads snapped in that direction and Gwen’s body began to tremble. She gritted her teeth together as she glanced at Ivor.

“All right. Swordsmen go first, bowmen follow,” the elf stated.

Even before he had finished his sentence, the group was already on the move again. Gwen took up front with Maeve and one more elf with their weapons. Ivor, Lorcán and the two remaining Squirrels followed them with nocked arrows. 

They had barely even started walking before Gwen’s ears picked up the sound of more voices speaking. Imitating Ivor’s previous gestures, she stopped in her tracks and held her arm out in front of Maeve, who stared at it as though it were a snake. Only when Gwen pointed towards the corner of the house beside them did her eyes lighten in understanding. By the time Gwen had crept closer to the edge, the others had gotten the message too. 

When Ivor gave her a nod, she rounded the corner and took stock of the situation. Five guards had been in the middle of talking strategy to tackle the battle at the harbour. Three of them stood with their backs towards her, whereas two were facing her. Their eyes widened at the sight of what they must have thought was an elf, her sword brandished and a taste for blood in her gaze. 

Luckily for her, the closest soldier stood two steps away from her. Even before anybody could utter a warning, Gwen had closed the distance and buried her sword into the neck of her victim. He made a gurgling noise, hands reaching up as if to remove the offending object from his body, but before he could do so he had already collapsed to the ground. 

In the time that it took the humans to gather their wits and attack her, she had reached her second prey. He lifted his sword but was too late and too slow – she deflected it easily, his grip so weak that she managed to tear it from his grasp and fling it to the side. 

Lady luck seemed to be on her side this once and the human’s sword flew at one of his companions, who had to duck out of the way. The moment he stopped paying attention, however, an arrow found its way to his face. He silently crumbled into a heap.

Disarmed, the soldier in front of her reached for the dagger at his belt, but by then she had pierced his stomach with her weapon. Blood flowed from his belly and over her hands, and she gave another shove for good measure. The man groaned and lurched forward when Gwen dragged her sword out of him again. His knees buckled beneath him, but by then the half-elf was already focussing on the next target. 

Said target was one of the two guards who had seen her arrive. He came upon her, yelling his rage and his blade high in the air. Before Gwen could act, however, Maeve slid between them, holding her daggers up. She caught the blow from his sword and moved with the weight of his attack, her knees bending. Then she sprung at him, pushing his weapon out of the way with one dagger while sliding the other into his neck. 

The fifth soldier already lay on the ground, riddled with arrows.

“You close-range fighters are a pain to fight with,” Lorcán muttered as he tried to pluck some of his arrows from a corpse. 

Gwen couldn’t help the grin when she said, “Apologies.”

Maeve snorted as she flicked some of the blood off her daggers. “Maybe you should just become a better bowman.” 

“Now, now,” Ivor said before the discussion – light-hearted or not – could take flight. “We need to move on.”

No other guards stood between them and the fight at the harbour, since they had all gathered there to begin with. As they got closer, Gwen noted Gwynbleidd’s white hair in the midst of the battle. Watching him move around was almost mesmerising, the precise and slow movements of his blade arching through the air enough to awaken envy in the best of warriors. 

Maeve suddenly let out a roar and sprinted towards the battle with a grin on her face. By the time the petite elf had disappeared, Gwen and the other swordsman went after her. Ivor and the rest stayed behind, aiming at their unsuspecting targets with their bows. At first the half-elf tried to stay out of their way, but after a while she lost herself and forgot everything except whatever opponent fate would throw at her. 

She squeezed herself between an elf whose back had been turned and the human advancing towards him and caught the guard’s sword with her own with a loud clang. Irritation flashed in his dark eyes and he went in for a quick second blow to her midsection. She deflected that one, too, after which he tried for her arm.

The human seemed to have suspected her weapon against his again, but when his blade simply bit into thin air, he stumbled forward. Before he could regain his balance, Gwen had slammed the pommel of her sword against the back of his helmet. By the time his face met the mud, the half-elf had already kicked the leg from under one of his comrades. That man’s back hit the ground with a thud, and she slid her blade just beneath his chin. 

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something rushing towards her from her left. With a gasp, she moved away from it, and that was probably what saved her arm, but she could not evade the sword that bit into her shoulder. Pain bloomed on her limb and she clenched her jaw. When she looked up, she saw her assailant moving in for another attack.

With a grunt, she lifted her blade once more, but before she could parry him he froze and another sword slid out of him. Coated in blood, it stopped just shy of her chest before it slipped away again. As the soldier disappeared from her view, her gaze met that of the vatt’ghern, his dark golden eyes emitting that strange sense of calm his entire body always seemed to project. 

An arrow whizzed by, though whose it was she could not tell. Nevertheless, it captured their attention and they followed it with their gazes only to watch it lodge itself in between the eyes of an elf. From somewhere nearby, a voice yelled an elven curse. Without wasting another moment, the half-elf and the vatt’ghern dispersed, each seeking out another target. 

Gwen could not say for how long they had been fighting when, finally, the last guard fell. For a few moments, she simply stood there, her aching shoulders heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The grip on her sword was so tight she could not feel her fingers and her eyes darted everywhere. When she realised that only Aen Seidhe surrounded her, she managed to lift a hand to wipe away the grime and the sweat from her forehead. 

Turning around, she noted that Iorveth and Gwynbleidd had reunited on the barge with what remained of their units. Ivor and one of his bowmen helped a limping Maeve across the docks towards the boat. There was no sign of Lorcán and the others. Her heart felt heavy in her chest at the realisation that corpses of both humans and elves surrounded her. 

On the other side of the harbour, more soldiers had begun to gather, though in that moment Gwen could only count three. She let out a breath and turned to jog after the others, her sword still in her hand.

When she caught up with Ivor, who had just stepped onto the boat with the others, a voice boomed across the wide space. A coldness spread out across her back when she recognised it. She didn’t want to turn around and face him, but found herself refusing her own order. 

“I knew you’d partner with those hatemongers, mutant! Think yourself a hero, do you?” Loredo yelled from the balcony of a high tower by the docks. With his right hand he held a female elf by her blonde hair. His left hand lifted a torch into the sky. “Sail away, and I’ll burn these sluts alive!”

Gwen’s head snapped towards Gwynbleidd, who stood at the edge of the boat, watching the human with those eyes of his. Iorveth sidled up next to him and said something to him. It took her the blink of an eye to realise that she could hear nothing but that loud buzzing noise again. It filled her head, consumed her entire being, until she felt nothing but hot anger coiling inside of her. 

Whatever the commander told the vatt’ghern must not have been a lot, however, since he left his side only a few moments later. That rage she had expected from him - _especially_ from him – remained absent in his demeanour. Disbelief added itself to the turmoil within her. 

As if on cue, the barge gave a lurch and was on its way, and Gwen found her body moving of its own accord. Before she knew it, she had launched herself over the railing and back onto the dock she had just left. She did so in time to watch Loredo throw the torch onto the roof next to him, and it didn’t take long for it to catch fire. 

By then Gwen had already left the docks behind her, her feet pounding against the wood and then the mud as if an arachas were chasing her. With her mind blank, the half-elf dodged any guards who attempted to stand in her way, even pushing one of them into the water as she went by. She rushed by wounded elves and grumbling dwarves and even more dead bodies, both human and non-human. More than once, burning buildings reached out for her with their tendrils of warmth, the smoke assaulting her nose and eyes. 

When she caught sight of that disgusting human being, she somehow even managed to speed up a little despite the fact that her lungs had begun to burn by then. He ran towards the gate that divided the market square from this part of town, but she hadn’t even had to sprint to catch up with the fat bastard. 

Once she could hear his laboured breathing she jumped at him, fingers finding purchase on his leather coat as she dragged him down with her. She made sure he toppled over, but he had just been in the process of turning around to face her, and so she ended up all but straddling him. Before he could react, she had grabbed his wrists and pressed them into the ground above his head with all her might. 

His skin shone with sweat and he smirked at her, though he said nothing as he continued to breathe heavily. She scowled and did her best not to gag at the images that tried to fill her mind, covered her discomfort with her hatred. Now that she was in such close proximity to the man, her throat felt dry. 

While she thought of something to say, she licked her chapped lips, trying in vain to wet them. It seemed as if all the things she wanted to do to him, everything she wanted to tell him, had become something so massive that it occupied her entire mind. She could no longer see the individual strands of the ball of yarn, but the ball of yarn itself consisted of nothing but hatred… 

“Come back for more, have you, darlin’?” Loredo sneered at her.

The ball of yarn seemed to explode and all rational thought flew right out of the window. For a single moment, she lay on that bed again, with him breathing down her neck, but she chased it away by reaching down and pulling her knife from her boot. Her sword lay discarded somewhere behind her, having been dropped before she tackled the human, but it didn’t matter. She dug the edge of her dagger against his throat, her limbs trembling as she seethed. 

“For revenge, more like,” she hissed at him. She dared not meet his gaze and so instead she watched a bead of blood slide down his neck.

Despite their current predicament, the man had the gall to let out a bark of laughter. Through gritted teeth, Gwen bit out, “What’s so funny?”

“You can’t kill me,” he said. He sounded so sure of himself that, for one heartbeat, Gwen almost believed him. “Any moment now, you’ll see the errors of your ways, and then”–he reached up to brush a fingers against one of her strands of hair and lowered his voice–“we’ll have some more fun in private.”

That coldness from before returned, starting at her spine and spreading out to the tips of her fingers and her toes. The only noise she could hear was that of her heart beating in her chest, loud and wild and irregular. Then there was the squeaking of a bed, a groan in her ear, a weight on top of her. 

_Fucking kill him,_ a voice snapped at her all of a sudden, angry and blunt, though she didn’t recognise whose it was. 

She blinked and was back in Flotsam, with the fire and the fighting and Loredo still grinning at her. Right then, she wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his ugly face.

“Why can’t I kill you?” Narrowing her eyes at him, she spoke with a confidence she did not feel. “You do realise you have nothing I want, nothing I need?” 

It was as if he realised this only now, and the corners of his lips fell. All mirth disappeared from his body, and he seemed to grow pale. This was more like it. 

“P-please,” he began, a slight tremor in his voice, “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

The half-elf stared at his deflated form. His ego probably took up more than half his posture. Her blinding rage slipped away, leaving nothing but loathing behind. How could a pathetic man like this have ever made his way to the top of the food chain here? Somehow, she felt disappointed by his weakness. She had expected better of him.

And so instead she spat, “You disgust me.”

Too late did the anger contort his face. He struggled against her hold, his free hand reaching for her face again. “Demavend should’ve killed all you fr—”

He never finished his sentence, which instead ended with a choked groan. Drops of blood spurted from the slit. The half-elf flinched when some of them found their way onto her face. 

As if in a daze, Gwen looked up and took in her surroundings. Suddenly she remembered the current situation, and without wasting another moment she scrambled to her feet, leaving the body for what it was. After retrieving and sheathing both her weapons, she took off back towards the harbour. Her legs protested as she pushed herself to her limit once more, the battle finally taking its toll on her. 

Of the burning tower, not much was left. A painful jab shot through her side, but she couldn’t tell whether that from the running or not. At least no guards stopped her on her way back to the docks. She realised why that was when she got there. 

The sight of the barge still there made her stop. She rested her hands on her knees and swallowed hard as she took in the scene before her – more dead humans littered the path between the tower and the barge. Had they been there before? On her hunt for Loredo, she hadn’t come upon any dead guards… Or had she? 

Standing there and wondering to herself would get her nowhere, however, and so she took off again. This time she kept her pace to a jog before she ambled up to the barge and jumped aboard. She wasn’t even allowed to catch her breath before Iorveth had found his way into her personal space. 

“What do you think you were doing?” he hissed at her, murder written all over his face. The hard look in his eye seemed to soften at the sight of the blood on her face, but his jaw remained set. 

“Doing the world a fucking service, that’s what,” Gwen retorted with a strength she no longer possessed. Her body ached all over and she was tired. She wanted a space to herself so that she could take care of her wounds and fall asleep. 

“And you thought that doing so by yourself was a great idea, did you?” The commander crossed his arms, his voice as harsh as ever. 

Right now, however, it rubbed her up the wrong way. Her hand shot out before she could think, and she heard the sound of her palm meeting flesh even though she felt no resistance against her skin. When she looked again, she saw that Iorveth had caught her wrist before her palm could connect with his face. There was a dangerous look in his eye, and she knew she was thoroughly fucked. 

He dropped her hand and turned sideways before bellowing, “Unfurl the mainsail!” 

The moment he let go of her, she turned and left, almost stumbling when the boat suddenly began to move. She found her balance again and rushed by rows of wounded elves receiving treatment on the deck. All the while she tried to ignore the eye on her back.

She passed Maeve below deck, whose leg was being looked at by that elf from the camp – Mervyn, if she remembered correctly. 

“Where are the supplies?” she asked them the moment she spotted them.

“Hello to you, too,” Maeve grumbled through gritted teeth. Her fingers dug into the shoulders of the elf binding her leg. Without opening her eyes, she nodded to the left. “At the cabin.”

The cabin, Gwen found, was a small separated space which was big enough for a mattress, a desk and a chair. Just outside the entrance, a pile of supplies had been dumped. The half-elf took what she thought she would need – bandages and salve – and entered the small room, closing the door behind her with her foot. 

She sat at the desk and dropped her supplies on it. As she stripped herself of most of her armour, leaving her in her breeches and a thin tunic, she investigated the papers scattered across the surface of the desk. It didn’t take her long to recognise them from Iorveth’s tent. Of course the bloede Aen Seidhe would claim this stupid cabin within moments of having arrived. 

And so she dressed the wound on her arm and treated the cuts and bruises she had collected during the battle as she poured over the beautifully drawn maps. Except she couldn’t concentrate on their contents and instead she found herself thinking back to their owner.

Why had she tried to hit him? Out of frustration, powerlessness? Anger? At what, at whom? Him, herself? Loredo? She had no idea. What she did know, however, was that she shouldn’t have done it. Now she could clearly see that he had been worried for her. She _had_ jumped ship at the last possible moment and disappeared without a word after all.

The door opened suddenly and Gwen’s body jerked up and away from the desk. Her mouth hung open, ready to say… well, she did not know what, but her voice caught in her throat when a green eye peered down at her from the door opening. She had been frustrated by his unreadable expression often enough, but never had she hated it more than she did in that moment. 

She stood up, the chair scooting backwards rather loudly as she did so, her eyes wide. “I—”

Iorveth stole her lips before she could utter her apology, the door falling in its lock behind him. He closed his eye and took a deep breath, the sound and sight of it making her tired knees grow weak. His gloved hands found their way into her hair and he held her in place as he swung her around, pressing her back against the wooden wall next to the door. One hand left its spot long enough to put the lock in place. 

Only then did he truly begin to move. His lips, which had held hers, now nipped at her skin, tongue running along hers. Without thinking, she returned the effort, straightening her back so that she could press herself up against him. 

In that moment, however, he pulled away from her, his hot breath fanning over her face as he stared into her eyes. He wanted to say something, she could see as much in the way his jaw slackened and clenched repeatedly. She felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards and hoped it was enough of a response to his unvoiced thoughts. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” she murmured. “For wanting to hit you, I mean.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Gwen began. Did he want to know why she left the barge, or did he want to know what happened afterwards? “I killed Loredo.” 

The commander’s eye widened and he took a step back with his hands in the air. “Apologies. I did not…” 

Staring at him, the half-elf’s mind struggled to catch up to the situation. When it did, however, she closed the distance between them just as Iorveth had done mere moments ago. Something in her eyes must have tipped him off, for he did not struggle when she grabbed the lapels of his armour to pull her down to him, smashing her mouth against his.

The movement created delicious friction between the two of them, and Iorveth moaned into her mouth. She broke the kiss by turning her head to the side. He rested his lips against her cheek, unmoving. Waiting for permission. 

She reached out for his wrist and pulled the glove from his hand before placing it against her breast. Her shirt did nothing to stop him from feeling her hardened nipple through the fabric. The dark look in his eyes told her as much. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and rubbed herself up against him, more specifically hardening parts of him, and whispered three words into his ear.

“Make me yours.”

For good measure, she added one more, this one in a low and husky tone.

“Please.”

The man growled and his lips soon found her neck, teasing and nipping at the skin there while his hand began to knead her breast through her tunic. He all but lifted her as he moved towards the wall again, where he pushed her up against the wood while he continued to ravish her with his mouth. She let her head fall back against the wall, biting back a moan. Thankfully the boat itself was producing enough of its own to cover theirs. 

In the meantime, her hands roamed his body, ran up and down his arms, removed the other glove, pushed his scarf and feather from his head. She combed her fingers through his slightly greasy hair, slid a nail across the length of his ear, heard him let out a breathy moan and repeated the movement. 

He squeezed her breast in return, making her arch her back. With his hand trapped between her chest and his, he removed it and instead used it to remove his belts. The movement forced him to pull back from her neck, and he snorted at the sound of her soft whine. She made up for it, however, when she reached out to place a hand to his cock through the layers of armour – far too many of them – that still remained between them. 

By the time he stood in nothing but his breeches and a thin tunic, much like Gwen herself, there was nothing subtle about his need for her. He hoisted her up and, without thinking, she wrapped her legs around his hips. When he ground himself against her core, their groans mingling in the air, she knew that they had reached the point of no return. She didn’t have the time to contemplate her lack of doubt about what was going to happen, no fear or hesitation.

Their lips met in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, bodies vibrating with the hums and grunts that left the two of them, as they rolled their hips against each other. Greedily. Needy. _Demanding_. 

They lapped at each other like thirsty dogs at a creek until their mouths began to divert – hers to the tattoos on his shoulder, her teeth digging into the lean flesh there, his to the tips of her ears, which were just pointy enough. 

His hands were on his buttocks, fingers squeezing her until it almost hurt as he held her aloft, whereas she curled her arms around his waist and grappled at his shoulder blades. 

All the while, their bodies moved along with the rhythm of the ship, swaying to and fro, trying to hit all the right places. Their movements picked up as they went, became more frantic, until she clenched her thighs around him and kept him in place right where she needed him, positioned right against her clit. 

A low moan tore itself from her mouth and she repeated the action. He did not seem to approve and nipped at her ear, eliciting a whelp from her instead. The single moment of distraction he used to drive himself against her again, this time in the way _he_ needed, and he grunted at the friction it caused. 

Then her hands were on his pants, trying to tug them down with desperate, jerky gestures. Her hands trembled more than they should have, but in that moment, she couldn’t have cared less. The chuckle that she felt rumble in his chest only made the heat that coursed through her veins spike. 

He dipped his head down to hers and his lips, curved into a small smirk, captured hers again before she could open her mouth to voice her complaints. She let him, for a short while forgetting the biting need inside of her as he ran his tongue along her teeth, digging into her mouth almost forcefully. Without thinking, she returned the act, lashing out at him with her own tongue before curling it around his. The guttural noise that left the elf’s throat only encouraged her to push back with even more force. 

And suddenly her entire world tilted backwards. She wanted to yelp, her hands turning into claws as she prepared to reach out and grasp the nearest thing to her, but then the fall stopped and her back hit something soft. Opening her eyes, it was only then that she realised Iorveth had moved them from the wall to the mattress. In the process of that he had somehow managed to loosen her breeches and had even begun working on his. 

A shiver made her skin crawl, the sudden air cold against her legs as well as her most intimate parts when she shoved her pants down to her knees. With him positioned between her legs, however, she couldn’t remove them any further, although he did not seem to mind. His never made it past his calves either before he was upon her again, covering every part of her body with his own and expelling any cold that attempted to cling to her skin. 

She felt him press up against her and she knew her cheeks had turned bright red. Embarrassment and need merged into one big, hot mess writhing inside of her that made her reach up and, with her hand on the back of his head, pulled him down to nip at his lips. He eagerly covered her mouth with his once more while his hands guided his hard length in between her thighs. 

Even with their bodies pressed so close to each other that they threatened to melt together, their skin rubbing and moving as if they were already one, he stared into her wide, brown eyes and waited. Her heart fluttered in her chest and, wondering if this would ever get old, she closed her eyes and nodded. 

Before she could inhale, as if to prepare herself, he was inside of her, forcing her to gasp instead. He placed an elbow on either side of her head and leaned down on his lower arms, their noses almost touching as he began to move in and out of her. At first the pace was slow and tender, almost excruciatingly so, but as the tension began to build in their muscles, he began to thrust with more urgency and need. 

She wrapped her legs around his hips once more, taking in as much of him as she could, and arched her back into him again, moaning at the much-needed friction. Sweat began to cover them both, entwining and making their flesh cling to each other. The smell of it was almost lost in the confines of this small room on this boat out on the river, though she did not get enough time to lament it. 

As he continued to move between her legs, their noses never once stopped touching, neglecting the natural shifts that were the result of their movements. Neither of them moved to kiss the other or to break eye contact. Their breath came out in quick puffs and they shared the same air as they edged closer to the precipice of euphoria.

He moved his right hand to her left arm, clutching at him as though she might fall to her death if she let him go. His calloused fingers guided it away from him and closer to her, lower, towards where their bodies connected. 

“Touch yourself,” he whispered in between pants. His forehead creased, his eyebrows – for once visible – knitted together, and she felt the need to clear his face of that frown. 

And so she did as he asked of her, sliding her hand in between the two of them until her fingers found that bundle of nerves. His arm made its way back to the mattress beside her head again, and in that moment, Gwen realised she hadn’t felt this safe in forever. That feeling alone was almost enough to push her into the abyss, but she bit her lower lip and concentrated on the green of Iorveth’s eye. 

That green disappeared soon enough when he closed it, his jaw clenching as he turned his head to the side. His scar greeted her instead, but before she could register it he made a sound that was the combination of a hiss and a moan and the rhythm of his movements became unsteady. 

“Ah…” A soft gasp was the next noise that he made, and it was such a vulnerable little thing, something so unbefitting the commander of a Scoia’tael unit, that it set something inside of her off.

She held her breath and curled her toes, let her head fall back and tightened the muscles in her stomach as much as possible in an attempt to hold back the feeling of pure pleasure that crept up on her. Two more circles from her fingers and as many thrusts from the man on top of her – including the sounds said man was making in her ear – and she sighed long and hard. The sparks spread out from her underbelly up to her neck and down to the soles of her feet, bursting into what felt like every cell of her body. 

When the feeling died down, she lay there with her chest heaving against his. His body had begun to shake and he rolled off of her soon after. Falling onto his back next to her, he stared at the ceiling through a half-lidded eye without making any moves to get up. Not even when she meekly pointed out that she was still bleeding, although less heavily than last time. 

Gwen decided to clean the two of them up herself, using some bandages and cloths she found near the desk with the maps. At least nobody would notice the blood, especially at a time like this.

When she returned to Iorveth’s side, she noted the change in his demeanour even without him having to speak. It was then that she realised he hadn’t let go of it at all while they were having sex. Even as he lay there, his hair and clothes dishevelled and a slight blush dusting his cheeks, he was still the commander. 

Back at the waterfall, if even for the blink of an eye, he could shed his skin as the commander. Here, however, surrounded by his men and women, she couldn’t expect something like that from him. They could need him at any possible moment, but they wouldn’t really need _him_. They’d need that one version of him, the _commander_. Always the commander. 

At that thought, her heart felt like someone was squeezing it. Her chest felt awfully tight and uncomfortable, as if her lungs had grown too large for it. As if she might burst.

But she didn’t and these thoughts remained even as she closed her eyes. With her head on his arm, his body close to hers, it was almost possible to forget who this man truly was, who he could be. Who he had to be. 

Almost. 

Even then, she had never been able to expect how deep his dedication to his own people truly ran. 

~PART I FIN~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't kidding when I said this chapter has almost everything. Blood, death, revenge, SEX. Endings. Foreshadowing. 
> 
> I would also like to take this moment to apologise in advance for the next chapter. Please remember that if you decide to murder me, you will never get to read the continuation of this story.


	31. Disconnect&Linger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *carefully places chapter on ground, then runs off as fast as possible*
> 
> Because of reasons, this chapter has two songs for the title, one for Iorveth and one for Gwen. Iorveth's song is "Disconnect" by Evergrey, Gwen's is "Linger" by Oceans Ate Alaska. I highly recommend listening to them before concluding anything.

Pain. A nagging yet piercing ache that ran so deep it was impossible to tell whether it was mental or physical. Bones felt so very old because of it, creaking and cracking. A testimony to the many years lived. _Survived_.

Fire. It was everywhere, enveloping, embracing. It crackled menacingly, like the wings of bats flying by. The heat it produced mingled with the pain, magnified it until it was blinding. Or maybe that was just the dagger, reflecting the light of the flames into squinting eyes.

A scream. Shrill and high, it almost caused the air to vibrate. It made the pain pulse harsher, the fires burn brighter. Together, they consumed everything until there was nothing left but darkness. 

Although the sound of the pain, the smarting of the fire and the burning of the voice disappeared, somehow they were still _there_ , just beyond this plane of existence. 

They were no longer there, but their effects lingered.

And suddenly Gwen stood there, her speckled brown eyes almost golden despite the blackness that surrounded her, as if the flames were still there to illuminate them. With wide eyes, she stared straight ahead, as if there were anything there to begin with. 

Her mouth hung open and it took a moment before the realisation came that _she_ was screaming. Her brows dipped down, wrinkles covering her forehead as her expression turned into one of intense pain. Tears gathered at the corner of her left eye before leaking, escaping from their confine by sliding down her cheek.

A cheek that seemed pale in comparison to the tears that stained them.

Dark tears, almost the colour of black.

_Blood_.

She lifted hands that quivered to touch her face, her fingers coming away moist. Then she shifted her eyes from staring off into the distance to staring straight at him, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the fire that raged within her orbs. 

Moving slowly, she reached for him with her trembling hands, her grip weakening as she grabbed the wrist in front of her face.

_His_ wrist.

The very moment she touched him, the dagger materialised out of nowhere.

Now there was only one fiery eye peering at him.

This time, the scream that rang out was his. 

And then he shot up, his tunic clinging to his heaving chest and his hair sticking to his face. He looked around and, noting the walls of the cabin on the boat, slumped against the mattress. There was no knife, no blood, no Gwenfrewi. 

He balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his closed eyes. With a sigh, he willed the images to go away, but he realised that, like many of the others, they never would.

~~~~

The air up top was strangely soothing. The last time Gwen had been on a barge had been her first, and that hadn’t been quite as spectacular as she would have liked. Although the marks on her back no longer stung, Gwen knew that they would remain visible for the rest of her life. Leaning against the railing and staring at the water that lapped at the barge as it made its way along the river felt almost like victory after all the shit the humans had put her through.

Plus, it also made her forget the fact that she basically stood on top of Ciaran’s grave, the place he had spoken his last words. To the vatt’ghern who had brought his situation to their attention. She supposed she should be grateful for the fact that he didn’t die with only his enemies for company. 

The matter of why exactly she cared was a different one. It wasn’t as if they had been friends. They had barely even gotten past hating each other… 

At the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something white. Moments later, thick arms leaned against the wood of the railing beside her. How had he crept up on her without making a single sound? It made goose bumps rise along the skin of her arms, and not in the good way.

“Gwenfrewi, right?” he asked, his voice as deep and detached as always. It was strange how he could sound so cold and warm at the same time. 

Gwen bit her lip and turned to look at the water again. “Just Gwen.” 

“You’re a half-elf, correct?” 

“Well, that’s the politest way I’ve ever had that question asked to me,” she replied with raised eyebrows. “I’m guessing that, since you haven’t threatened me with your sword yet, you’re not here to judge me, are you?”

When he shook his head, his hair fell over one of his shoulders. Without taking his gaze from the lush forests they were sailing past, he raised a hand and threw it back again. “Cedric told me to pass something on to you. A message.”

“Cedric did? A message?” Gwen wondered out loud. Now her brows sank. She hadn’t seen the elf since that fateful day in Flotsam. What could he possibly have to tell her? 

“He said, ‘Tell the half-blooded one that it was the mother who saved the daughter, not the daughter who killed the mother.’” When he spoke, he straightened his back to look her in the eye. “Does this mean anything to you?”

Gwen stared at him. For a moment, it seemed as if the entire world had slowed down. Then, she felt the tell-tale prickle of tears in them and so she quickly blinked and looked away. In a soft voice, she said, “Yes. Yes it does.” 

With a hum, Gwynbleidd nodded and moved his attention to the river once more. She wondered about all the stories people had been telling each other when Letho had been at their camp. About the vatt’gherns. This one didn’t seem all that bad. If Cedric had entrusted something like this to him, then she could trust him too, right?

Still… Something didn’t feel right. “Why did Cedric tell you this to begin with?” 

The man, however, remained silent. Even when Gwen rested her arms against the railing again, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Seagulls called from the air and the ship creaked and groaned loudly as she waited for him to open his mouth. At one point, she even thought he would never start speaking. 

Of course, that was also the moment he chose to speak up. 

“He… was dying. The fool decided to get involved with Letho, because, ‘Sometimes we must.’ It didn’t go so well for him, though.” Gwynbleidd spoke softly, as if he were talking to himself. Only a slight movement of his head signalled that he was actually addressing her. “He used his last breath to give me that message, so I assume it must have been important.” 

When the sigh escaped her lips, Gwen felt like she had deflated to half her size. Cedric… Cedric was dead? The tears that had refused to go away completely now dripped down onto the railing between her white-knuckled hands. 

Where would she be today if she hadn’t met the old elf that day? Probably eaten by nekkers. And even if she had somehow managed to get past that, then she would still be the old her. The her that hated and was hated. The her no longer capable of love and trust. 

She hadn’t even been able to say goodbye. Or thank you. _Again_.The last words he told her were quite fittingly, “Good luck.”

And Ciaran… She did not even remember the last time she had spoken to Ciaran. Only moments ago she had wondered about their relationship, but suddenly she could see it clearly for what had been. They may not have been friends or anything even remotely close to that. But in the end, they had respected each other, and that was more important than any superficial relationship status that she could stick to this now.

“I… I need to go,” Gwen murmured, drying her eyes with her sleeve after pushing herself off the railing. “And… thank you.” 

The vatt’ghern’s grunt barely registered in her mind as she made her way towards the stairs that would lead her to the deck below. Although a lot of elves who had gotten wounded in the battle were already up and about, many of them still lay down here, hushed whispers filling the space as they entertained themselves down here. 

Whenever somebody walked across the wood above their heads, the walls would shake slightly and the sound of the steps would echo throughout the room. It was barely even noticeable, what with the slight swinging of the barge and all the noises that came with that. And with the smell of blood and sweat hanging heavy in the air, it was a wonder anybody could concentrate at all. 

Everybody tried their best to ignore the fact that they resided within what basically amounted to a prison. It _was_ a prison barge, after all. Only the cell Gwynbleidd had claimed had been Ciaran’s was deserted. All that remained was the blood on the floor and the few piles of straw scattered around the space. 

Now she stood there, leaning with her back against the grates of the cell, staring at the red blotch on the ground. In some way, it reminded her of the one she must have left behind on the one that had brought her here to begin with. Except she had made it out alive. Ciaran hadn’t. 

Never got a proper funeral either. She heard others tell of what happened when they got to the barge the day before. Some elves had still been alive when they arrived. Others hadn’t been as lucky. Ciaran’s body hadn’t even been on board by the time they arrived, so they could only assume the worst. 

She wondered why these deaths were affecting her like this. Many elves had died during her time with the Scoia’tael. Sure, she had felt… _something_ , but had she mourned? Was she mourning right now? Her mourning had always consisted of anger and hatred, directed towards both herself and the world outside. Now she could only feel a calm note of sadness inside of her, a strange sense of emptiness. Was this what loss felt like?

“Strange, isn’t it?” a voice asked from behind her. 

The half-elf turned, almost expecting Ivor to step into the cell beside her. When she recognised Mervyn, she felt her shoulders tensing ever so slightly. “What is?”

“Death.” 

Her face remained blank as she watched the elf crouch beside the red mark and trace it with fingers that sported a similar colour. Strands of his long hair fell over his shoulder, hiding his face from her sight. Even so, she had taken note of the slight tremor in his chin. The way his fingers trembled as well told her enough. 

Whatever she was feeling, it had to be worse for these people. While she had lost comrades and half-friends, they had lost family. She could only think back to the first few days after she had lost her son, though all she could truly remember was a lot of empty bottles and far too much blood – _her_ blood. If her mother hadn’t found her in time, who knew what would have happened to her.

Without a word, Gwen stepped towards the elf and sank to the ground beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and kneaded it like she had seen others do. In turn, his entire body began to shake and he let out a sniff. It hadn’t been the reaction she had expected, but then again, she didn’t even know what she had expected to begin with. 

“It is, isn’t it?” she heard herself say. “One moment they’re still there and then, in the next, they’re just… gone.” 

The muscles beneath her palm tensed and she cursed inwardly. 

“But he’s with the others now, isn’t he? Where the apple trees bloom?” she continued, trying her best to keep the frantic tone out of her voice. “He’s fulfilled his duty and now he’s been released from this… this life. Wherever he is right now, he’s at peace, and we should… I think we should honour his sacrifice by moving forward. It’s all we can do, really.” 

“You… you know of the blooming apple trees?” came the small voice from behind a curtain of dark hair. 

Gwen bit back a scoff. “My… my mother always told me about them. She hoped that I’d be able to reach them, too. Even though I’m, well… _this_.” Though he probably couldn’t see, she used her other hand to gesture at herself. 

Rather abruptly, Mervyn pulled away and looked at her, the tears making his strange wolfbane-coloured eyes even more vibrant. Or maybe that was the spark of anger in them. “Don’t say that about yourself. You… you’ve proven yourself worthy a long time ago. No one doubts that.” 

Though she had concluded as much from the changes in their demeanour, her breath still hitched in her throat at hearing someone actually say it. Somehow it seemed ironic that it was one of the few elves she still recognised from the beginning of her Squirrel career to tell her this. Or perhaps it was fate? 

“Thank you,” she murmured, dipping her head down before she pushed herself up again. Once she stood, she held her hand out for the man on the ground. “Ciaran… He was a pain in the ass. And you probably knew him better, but he wouldn’t have wanted us to sit on… here.”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” Mervyn admitted softly as he accepted her help. He kept his eyes on that damned spot, though.

The corners of Gwen’s mouth quirked upwards and she patted him on the shoulders again. “Go on, tell me what he would have wanted us to do instead?”

“He…” Licking his lips, he finally lifted her gaze. “He would have wanted us to kill a lot of dh’oine in return.”

“Exactly. Now come. We should tend to the living, not linger on the dead.” 

As they left the cell, Gwen noted that mourning people by helping others get up again wasn’t so bad.

Up top, it seemed that the only human on board – Dandelion, who used far too many fancy words to actually be understood properly – had gathered a sizable audience. Standing at the front of the barge and playing a soft, slow melody on his lute, he seemed to be relaying some tale of sorts.

“It was a dream. Sleep peacefully. It won’t come back,” Dandelion recited in a singsong voice, his fingers working his lute as if he had been born with it.

Though Gwen was not quite sure why the dh’oine could stand so easily between the Scoia’tael – and how the Scoia’tael members seemed to not mind his presence – she stopped at the top of the staircase and watched him. Mervyn hesitated for a moment before he tilted his head at her and made his way over to the group. 

“Ciri had heard such reassurances in the past. They had been repeated to her endlessly; many, many times she had been offered comforting words when her screams had woken her during the night.” The poet paused briefly, his eyes sweeping across his audience, watching the elves like a hawk. “But this time it was different. Now she believed it. Because it was Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, the Witcher, who said it. The man who was her destiny. The one for whom she was destined. Geralt the Witcher, who had found her surrounded by war, death and despair, who had taken her with him and promised they would never part.” He dropped his gaze and hunched his shoulders close to his body, as if he suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. Then, softly, he finished, “She fell asleep holding tight to his hand.”

Only when he bowed deeply did the warriors watching him clap their hands. Reluctantly at first, the sound grew in strength as more joined in. Gwen wondered if that was because of their unfamiliarity with the tradition, or because this was how they truly felt about the story.

Whatever the case, the half-elf found herself glancing around in search of the vatt’ghern. What was this about a Ciri person? His lover, perhaps? How much of it was true to begin with? Poets and bards were known for… embellishing the tales they touched with their tongues. 

Gwynbleidd was nowhere to be seen, however, and so she turned around to see if she could find him elsewhere. When she saw no sign of him on the other side of the ship, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. 

“Did you enjoy the performance?” somebody behind her asked. 

When she whipped her head around, her dark eyes met bright blue ones. Dandelion reclined against the railing behind her in a rather casual manner, all the while stroking his goatee. 

Her gaze flickered over to the already dispersing audience before meeting his again. “I have to admit I missed most of it. Well, all of it except for the last few lines or strophes or whatever you people call them.”

“With ‘you people’ I suppose you mean us poets?” he asked, dark brows disappearing beneath the red hat he wore. When the half-elf nodded, he chuckled and shook his head. “Not a lover of the arts, I take it?” 

“Not really,” Gwen admitted with another shrug.

“What a surprise!” Dandelion exclaimed, although he did not look all _that_ surprised. “I haven’t met a lot of women who cannot appreciate the fine arts.” 

She couldn’t help the smirk that broke free of her lips. “I find that I’m different from a lot of women on a lot of different fronts.” 

“Do tell.” The poet clasped his hands in front of him. Though his surprise hadn’t been sincere, his curiosity most certainly looked like it was. 

“What if I said I could chop your head off before you could even blink your eyes?”

Dandelion shook his head. “No can do. I’ve met quite a few of those already.”

“Maybe you should write songs about those instead.” 

“ _Ballads_ , not songs,” the man responded at once. “And you just heard one, in fact.”

With a hum, Gwen tapped a finger to her chin. “Perhaps. I can’t remember much of it after hearing you recite at least five different titles for Gwynbleidd. Couldn’t you have added that one as well? ‘Gwynbleidd’? ‘Vatt’ghern’ would have been a nice addition, too. Some constructive criticism for the next time, perhaps?” 

Much to her surprise, the human threw his head back and burst into laughter. She watched him with a raised brow, wondering if he had lost his mind. That was a thing that happened to artistic people, was it not?

“Ahahaha… Forgive me… I…” the bard began, wiping a tear from his eye. “I have to admit… I have never had a response such… such as that before. Normally people start debating about whether any of it is real or not. I’ve been threatened a few times, too, because of it.”

The half-elf frowned. “Threatened? What for?” 

“For information on the Lion Cub of Cintra, her whereabouts and the like,” Dandelion responded, his chest puffed out and his hands gesturing wildly. The moment the words left his lips, however, he tensed and deflated. 

Standing beside them was the vatt’ghern, his face as blank as that of an elf as he stared at the two of them. Gwen couldn’t stop herself from jerking away from him. How had he gotten so close without her noticing again?! 

His eyes moved over her form for a moment before he directed his attention towards the bard again. “I know I can’t remember any of this, but do I need to remind you how much trouble this tale gave you back then?”

“That was a long time ago, Geralt,” Dandelion stated, waving his hand about as if to make the matter disappear that way. “I doubt anybody would need this information now. And even if they did, I would place a bet on how long they would survive. You see, Gwen, the ballad _was_ about one such woman, although back then she was but a young girl.” 

Gwynbleidd let out a sigh and Gwen couldn’t help but ask, “You can’t remember any of this? The Lion Cub of Cintra, Ciri… She wasn’t your lover, she was your daughter. A daughter destined to be? And you can’t remember?” 

“It’s a long story,” he responded. 

Dandelion opened his mouth, but he shut it again at the sight of the vatt’gherns glare. Gwen decided to drop the issue as well. She did not wish to die enough to sate her curiosity. Plus, perhaps she could corner Dandelion somewhere in Vergen and have him explain what was going on. 

For now, however, she would have to wait.

~~~~

They arrived early the next day, mooring somewhere north of Vergen. The rest would have to be walked by foot, but Dandelion claimed rather cheerfully that it wasn’t that far. Together with Gwynbleidd and Zoltan, the poet left while Iorveth gathered a group of elves to join them. Those who remained behind were mostly the wounded, those tending to them and those guarding them and the barge.

Gwen fell into step beside Ivor as they followed Iorveth along the stony path that was more sand than stone. Here by the water the wind was harsh, tugging at their armour, pushing against them with every step they took. To the right a tall, white cliff rose, offering them only little protection from the irregular gusts. What little vegetation that grew here seemed deformed by the weather, bare and bent. Empty. As they left the river behind them, an eerie silence took over. The sound of their armour clinking and their boots stepping in sand was all they could here – at least, whenever the wind died down for a moment. A strange feeling of tension hung in the air, making sure that nobody opened their mouths. 

It didn’t take long before they caught up with the others, who were conversing with a group of dwarves. Iorveth raised a hand to those behind him before making his way towards where Gwynbleidd stood. Gwen stayed behind with the rest of the elves, watching him go with a frown on her face. Somehow, for some reason, something felt wrong here. She just didn’t know what. 

From this distance, combined with the wind, she could hear none of what they were saying, although, going by the gestures everyone was making, it looked like a rather lively discussion. 

“What are they talking about?” Gwen whispered to Ivor, who stood beside her with his arms crossed. His expression mirrored her own. 

“I cannot hear,” he replied and he tilted his head to the side, as if that might help. He opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, their surroundings grew darker all of a sudden.

“The sun!” someone behind her murmured.

Gwen raised her head, her eyes widening when she saw the shadow that had begun to cover it all of a sudden. “What…?” 

Before anybody could do anything, Iorveth and Geralt had started moving again. The commander sent them another signal before he went out of sight, but it was to stop them from following him. Gwen bit her lip; she had been about to run after him. What if something had happened? Why had he brought all these warriors with him if he was simply going to let them stand there? 

In the meantime, one of the dwarves had rushed off in a different direction.

“Where’s he going?” she asked nobody in particular. “We can’t just stand here, can we? We… we’ve got to do something, right?” 

She had fixed her attention on Ivor, but the elf was still too busy gaping at the sun. When he ignored her calling his name, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Three of the dwarves had stayed behind, staring at the sky together with Dandelion and Zoltan, so she ran towards them. At least Dandelion turned to look at her when she arrived. 

“We can’t stay out here like this,” Gwen said, gesturing towards the clouds. “Can’t you take us to Vergen while we wait?”

That seemed to snap the others out of their stupor as well. Ivor and some more elves came to a halt behind her, and the dwarves turned their gazes towards her as well. With all the eyes on her all of a sudden, the half-elf found herself straightening her back without thinking. 

“We’re vulnerable out here, but Iorveth told us to stay behind. He’ll find out where we are afterwards. I doubt he would have kept us here if he thought he’d need us,” Gwen continued. “You need to get somewhere safe too, right? In case something happens?” 

One of the dwarves spat on the ground. “‘Somewhere safe’? Wot d’ya think we are? A buncha pansies dressed in green, afraid o’ a lil’ dark?” 

“Actually,” Gwen said, staring rather pointedly at Dandelion, “I was talking about the less capable among us, if you mind. Or more capable, depending on your criteria.” 

Zoltan chuckled loudly and shook his head. “The lass’s right. Dandelion here’s no match fer whatever opponent ya wanna throw at him. And I’m sure many o’ us are tired after the trip.” 

More murmured assents came from behind the half-elf.

“Fine, fine, we get the point,” another dwarf muttered. He gestured for the other two, who looked at him rather sullenly, to follow him and repeated the movement for the others. 

With one more look at the dark sun – surely an ominous sign – Gwen made sure that everyone in their eccentric collection of travellers was on their way.

~~~~

How long had it been? How much time had passed? When were they coming back? _Were_ they even going to come back? What if they had died, doing who knew what? Their corpses lying there for the crows to feed upon?

Gwen looked out of the window the next time she passed it on her pacing round. It was still light out. How many times had she asked herself that question now? What if an entire day had passed without her knowing, without her realising, sunken too deep in her own thoughts to notice the passage of time?

“Gwen.”

What if he never came back? What if she were to have her trust betrayed once more? To have her heart broken again?

“Gwen.”

She didn’t think she could do this anymore. Not again. Not after all this. She just couldn’t. 

“Gwen!” 

A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and shook her. Her teeth clattered together, catching the skin of her cheeks in between them, and she winced at the pain. She looked up to see Ivor staring down at her, his brows lowered and his lips forming a thin line. 

“Sorry,” she muttered when he let go of her. 

“Stop worrying. It’ll be fine. They haven’t been gone nearly long enough to warrant this kind of pacing.” 

With a sigh, the half-elf dropped herself into a nearby chair and leaned her head back. Her eyes fell upon her sword, resting against a stone wall nearby, and her fingers twitched. Had she ever felt the need to cut something – or someone – into pieces as much as she did in that moment? 

Rolling her head to the other side, she stared out of the small window that allowed her a view of the streets outside. A few elves had gathered there, talking to each other about who knew what.

“The villagers say that a fog has been spreading from the top of a hill nearby and is slowly making its way toward the village,” Ivor said after a few moments of silence.

The elves standing outside straightened their backs all of a sudden, their heads jerking into the same direction. 

With a huff, Gwen asked, “Is that supposed to make me feel better somehow?” 

Before her companion could respond, the Scoia’tael outside had sprinted off. Others seemed to have been following the display, for more elves left their houses and went after them. Gwen shot out of her chair and towards the door, which she threw open with more force than intended. It smacked against the wall with a loud crash, but she ignored it in favour of following the elves who had left the small plaza. Those who occupied the same house as her didn’t take long to run after her. 

She made her way across wooden planks thrown onto puddles to keep their feet dry, down stone stairs, past market stalls and finally came to a stop beneath a high arch. The gates were open, but a couple of elves blocked the way. Even so, she could hear the commotion coming from the other side. She could hear _his_ voice. 

By the time she stopped at the back of the small crowd, she was breathing heavily and sweating all over. Her wounds complained all the while, though she tried her best to ignore them. She didn’t wait long before making her past the murmuring Squirrels to get to the front. As she got closer to the front, she could start to hear what they were saying.

“…do not have time for this.” That was Iorveth. Somehow, he sounded calm and agitated at the same time. Or perhaps that was simply because of the roughness of his voice. “I need to find the one who poisoned her.” 

“How are we to know it wasn’t _your_ doing?” someone else snapped back.

“Stop that, Harold.” Gwen froze the moment she recognised that voice. Incidentally, that was also the moment she could finally see what was happening. “Saskia had placed all her faith in him – killing her would have been the worst thing he could possibly do. Unless, of course, he wished to sow chaos. After all, does the legendary Iorveth even wish to live in peace with humans?”

In front of her stood Prince Stennis in all his glory, his golden armour still as annoyingly shiny as it had been on the day he threw her out of her own country. One of her few remaining relatives. Thankfully she didn’t resemble him in any way at all. 

“Pah!” Iorveth spat, his face contorting with anger, but he balled his hands into fists and held back. Then, suddenly, he caught sight of her, turning his head towards her. 

The movement made Stennis look at her, as well, and his eyes went so wide it might have been comical had the situation been less tense. She ignored him, however, and continued to watch Iorveth.

As though someone had cast a spell, time seemed to slow down when she noticed the look in his eye. There was no flicker of recognition, no speck of warmth, though she wouldn’t, or shouldn’t, have expected the latter to begin with. But it was the former that scared her, that caused a sliver of doubt to worm its way into her core. For the duration of a single heartbeat, something she hadn’t expected flickered through his green orb – apprehension? Regret? It was gone before she could recognise it, replaced by something even more frightening: resolution. 

He waved his hand at her, gesturing for her to come closer. The move captured Stennis’s attention once more. Hope flooded here and Gwen took a step forward, and another, and one more. All the while she ignored that voice in her mind.

_Run_ , it whispered. Just as it had back then. _Don’t go with him._

But it was too late. She stood beside the elf and he stepped behind her, his hands on her shoulders. Like he was presenting her. 

“What if,” Iorveth began, his voice far colder than Gwen had ever heard it before, “as a gesture of… peace, if you will, I were to return something of yours to you.” 

This time, the entire world stopped spinning. 

The half-elf did not respond, did not even register, the commander lowering his hands from her shoulders to her wrists. Tying her hands together with a coarse piece of rope. Shoving her forward, almost causing her to stumble to her knees.

Somewhere in the background, someone called out her name. 

Only when two pairs of hands found her arms, metal gloves instead of leather coming upon her, did her surroundings fall into place again. She dug her heels into the stones beneath her and, bellowing a yell, she tried to rip herself from the grasps of the soldiers sporting the familiar colours of Aedirn, of what once was home. They only tightened their holds on her, making her wince and bite her tongue when one of them disturbed the cut on her arm. From the stain on her sleeve, she knew she had started bleeding again.

She couldn’t have cared less, however. Ignoring the pain, she continued to struggle, screaming as she tried to break free. She sought him, sought Iorveth, her new home, with wide eyes. He was staring at her, unseeing. Or uncaring. She didn’t know which was worse.

When the guards began to drag her away, she screamed. Without a second thought, she threw her head back, only for it to collide with armour. Now, her surroundings sped up, circling around and making her stomach churn. Even then she didn’t let up. 

Only when they passed Iorveth did she realise the sudden close proximity to the man. With another scream she tried to throw her arms at him, both to hug him and to punch him, to beg him to save her, to ask why, why, why, _why_ \--

“Why? Why? _Why?_ ” she shrieked at him. It became a chant, one she repeated even when he turned his head to look the other way, his jaw set. 

“Gwen!” Ivor’s voice roared above her one, above the clamour of those watching the display.

Though tears had begun to fill her eyes, she tried to find the source of the voice, hope flaring inside of her once more. Bright and blinding and biting into her. Only for her to find him being held back by other elves. He stretched his arm out towards her, calling her name over and over again while she continued to voice that one question, but his fingers curled around thin air. 

Why? 

Why?

Why?

Whywhywhywhywhy?

That one word accompanied her as the soldiers dragged her out of Vergen, towards the camp Stennis’s army had set up nearby. It was her solace as they tied her to a pole in the middle of the field, surrounded by tents and leering men. Her companion as, finally, the tears broke free and she sank to the ground, sobbing loudly. 

When it was no longer a word but only a feeling, it took root somewhere deep inside of her. And when her crying died down into soft hiccups, and those hiccups turned into the grinding of teeth, she raised her face to the darkened sky and opened her eyes feeling half a century younger.

And full of hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll still alive? Good, because we've got one hell of a ride from here on out, and I'm going to need you all to hang on. I promise, it'll all be worth it in the end...........
> 
> .....I hope.......
> 
> By the way, the thing that Dandelion recites comes from Andrzej Sapkowski's book "Blood of Elves". Thought it might be a nice touch to actually include it instead of thinking of some arbitrary adventure of Geralt. 
> 
> In other news, tonight Mass Effect: Andromeda is gonna be released, so for the next few days I'll mostly be busy with that 8D *flees*


	32. Mistaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't imagine how pissed I was when I found the song that contained the entire theme of where this fic currently stands - only to realise I had already used the title in a different chapter. So somehow I had to condense the rest of Lady Gaga's "Perfect Illusion" to one word, and that makes me so angry, but it can't be helped.

Something nudged her hip, pulling Gwen from her sleep. For a few moments she remained still, her mind racing to catch up to her situation. Where was she? What had happened? In a flash, she remembered her screams and the soldiers. But most of all, she remembered the look in his eye. 

She didn’t know for how long she had been sitting there, hunched over and staring at the ground beneath her with her eyes wide and her nostrils flaring like a disgruntled horse. Rather distinctly she recalled her surroundings darkening and then slowly growing lighter again. Exhausted, she must have fallen into a dreamless sleep. 

The push from before returned, more urgent this time. With a slight shift of her head, her stiff neck protesting as she did so, she caught sight of the tip of a boot poking her leg. Against her will she looked up and found herself staring into the warm blue eyes of a human. 

He raised a blond, delicate brow, the amusement plain on his face while he inspected her. The amount of emotions he displayed came almost as a shock to Gwen, who had spent the past few months in the company of elves with blank masks. 

_They could be fake,_ she reminded herself and she thought back to the last time she had trusted a dh’oine. 

When it became obvious she wasn’t planning on opening her mouth, the man said, “You’ll be leaving soon, when the sun has risen above those treetops.”

He pointed at something in the distance, but she continued to watch him.

“I’ll personally be guiding you, together with three others,” he continued and cleared his throat. “To keep you safe.”

 _You mean, to keep me chained,_ the voice in her head sneered. 

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, the trip from here to Vengerberg will take us about three days. Since we’ll be making a few stops on the way there, however, we’re thinking it’ll be twice that.” 

Gwen’s silence stretched on, though at one point she decided to examine the ground once more. Anger festered inside of her and it felt like her insides were boiling. The moment she opened her mouth to speak, she had no clue what might come out.

The knight shifted. “The name’s Richard, by the way.” His armour clinked as he stretched his arms out in front of him. “I’ll have someone bring some food before we leave.” Gloved fingers tapped against something – the pommel of his sword, perhaps? “Don’t you worry, milady, we—”

“Do you ever just _shut up_?” Gwen spat. The chains that had replaced the ropes around her wrists clattered with the trembling of her body. 

“Ah, so she can talk after all.” Richard’s laugh filled the air, startling the half-elf, whose eyes snapped back to her captor. “For a moment I was beginning to wonder if you had lost it, what with all your screaming yesterday.”

That made her close her mouth and turn her head to the side. Shame filled her at the memory and it made her skin itch an itch that she knew only a blade could satisfy. The doubt had been gnawing at the corners of her mind for a while now, but she had tried to keep it at bay until now, certain that she would fall to pieces if she allowed it in. 

“Now, don’t be like that. We’ll get you home safe and sound, where we’ll wait for Stennis’s orders on what to do with you,” the knight said as he scratched the back of his neck. “He seemed quite startled with your appearance. It was like he had seen a ghost.”

“Well he did originally send me to die. Or be prostituted. Or both,” Gwen muttered, more to herself than to her companion. 

“Are you sure of that?” He sounded uncertain enough for two. “Why would he do such a thing? From what I heard, you are family, are you not?”

The half-elf pointed at her ears. “That’s why. If you remember correctly, Demavend wasn’t exactly nice to non-humans. Aren’t you supposed to share the sentiment?”

“I never really saw the point of hating entire groups based on what a few did. Too much scientist in me, I suppose.” Richard gave a small shrug before he turned away, something capturing his attention. “I have to go. Eat whatever you’re given, for we’ll be leaving soon.”

~~~~

When a new dh’oine brought a plate laden with food, Gwen didn’t even look at it. With the food came some sort of medic who wanted to take a look at her arm. The half-elf shirked away from his touch, but when her restraints got in the way, she slumped and let him do as he willed.

It didn’t take much longer before another guard came and reached out for her shackled hands. This time she remained still and he dragged her off the ground, towards a wagon that had already been prepared for the trip. For that much, the half-elf was grateful. Her legs almost refused to cooperate, buckling beneath her a few times. The guard all but had to carry her towards her seat.

A few other captives were dumped beside her, but she ignored them and their inquisitive gazes. Thankfully, it didn’t take long before the wagon began to move. Two guards sat at the front to man the horses, muttering to each other in hushed voices. The rest rode their own horses beside the cart, of which Richard was one.

“You didn’t eat,” he noted with a frown.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Gwen replied.

The dh’oine said nothing in return, allowing the silence in the half-elf’s head to dominate her surroundings. Though she tried her best to keep her mind blank, it kept getting harder to keep the thoughts away. 

Instead of thinking about the past, she tried to focus on the future. What would the humans do to her once they got to Vengerberg? Why had Stennis even captured her to begin with? He wasn’t acting on a hatred for nonhumans, it seemed. He didn’t feel threatened by her presence. Then what exactly did he want from her? To take his time murdering her? To interrogate her first?

“Why’re you here?” one of the prisoners asked all of a sudden, capturing Gwen’s attention.

“Quiet back there!” a guard on the wagon called over his shoulder.

Though the captive who had asked the question winced ever so slightly, her eyes remained on the half-elf.

Averting her gaze and without thinking, Gwen stated, “Treason.”

The others nodded, as if they understood. As if they could understand.

“I was caught for stealin’,” another dh’oine responded without being prompted, his shoulders hunched. “A loaf of bread, or something. Can’t even remember, really.”

“Killed my good for nothing husband,” the woman offered. Her back was straight and her chin raised high, which made the contrast between the two of them all the greater. Her blonde cropped hair bounced with the movement, so colourful compared to the man’s bald head. “What kind of treason?”

Why were they sharing their stories so willingly? Why did she even care about some half-elf captive? Was she just bored? “The worst kind.”

“Ah,” the other breathed with a nod.

The hobbling of the wagon reminded Gwen of the barge she had left the day before. Now it felt like it had been ages ago instead of a mere night. Maybe that’s why she was so, so tired.

Swaying to and fro, the sounds of the wind rushing through the trees that began to grow on either side of the stone road as they continued south. Gwen finally felt the tiredness settle inside of her, and so before anybody could say anything, her chin came to rest upon her chest and her eyes grey heavy once more.

~~~~

When the half-elf came to, it was to the sounds of people bickers and a fire crackling. Her entire body felt stiff when she tried to lift her head, and so she remained still instead.

“Awake, are you?” Richard asked from beside her. He held a bowl of some sort of stew that smelled like it had been cooked for too long beneath her head.

Her stomach grumbled, telling her not to be picky. Even so, she could not find the will to eat it. Richard placed the bowl in her lap and quickly let go of it when she tried to move away from him.

A silence settled between them, Gwen staring at the stew and Richard looking who knew where. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t _want_ to speak, but everything was better than silence.

As if hearing her prayer, Richard asked, “What was it like? Living with the Squirrels?”

Okay, perhaps he hadn’t.

“Does it matter?” the half-elf replied. Her voice cracked slightly near the end of her sentence and she licked her lips before continuing, “Why would it be any different from where you live?”

“But out in the wilds. No proper houses, or food, or… anything, really.” 

Finally, Gwen lifted her eyes. “You slept in a tent in a camp outside the city yesterday. Even now, you have no roof over your head. So again, I ask, what does it matter?”

Richard stared at her for a moment before he looked away, scratching the back of his head. “I suppose you’re right there. With persuasion tactics like that, no wonder you chose to join them.”

“I didn’t join them,” Gwen snapped through gritted teeth. She had gripped the bowl in her hands, clenching it in an attempt to control the anger within. “I had no choice. It was either that, or die.”

“That… I’m sorry to hear that.”

The half-elf said nothing more. She handed the untouched bowl back to him before she could break it and turned to lean against the side of the wagon. For once thankful for her exhaustion, she fell asleep before her mind could assault her.

~~~~

The next day consisted of more of the same, though they made the first of supposed many stops once the sun had passed the highest point in the sky. Mostly it had consisted of coming to a halt beside a small settlement by the side of the road that looked more like a small collection of houses than anything else. There, they had stocked up on provisions and added a captive to the wagon. A gruff man that grunted more than spoke took a spot beside her, whereas the other two dh’oine huddled together on the other side of the cart. His hair reached just below his chin and was a mixture of grey and dirt. One didn’t have to smell him in order to know he hadn’t seen any water outside of a cup in days. From the smell of alcohol on his breath Gwen wondered if he had seen any water at all in the past few days. What Richard and one of the other guards did in the few hours that they spent away from the wagon did, nobody seemed to know.

Although the sudden onslaught of exhaustion from the day before had waned, Gwen still found her eyes dropping more often than not throughout the day. At the very least she was too tired to think. For that, as usual, she was thankful. 

“I used to go fishin’ every now and again, y’know,” the male dh’oine beside her said. They had been on the road again for a while now, sitting in sullen silence as they listened to the guards whisper to each other. “With my son. Never felt more at peace than I did then.”

“Then why d’you throw that away?” the woman asked.

“We had no money left. After some soldiers came through the village, ‘confiscating’ whatever they wanted, not much was left. And then there were the Squirrels, making life for everyone harder. I had no choice but to steal. It was either that, or watch my kids starve.”

“Aye, difficult times are upon us. Don’t reckon it’ll get better any time soon, though.”

They continued to talk about nonsensical human things that a half-elf such as herself would never have understood in the first place. Fishing with fathers who stole for their children? She liked to think she would have become a thief for her own child, but a dh’oine took away her chance to find that out.

On the other hand, her own father had never done such things with her either. Though he had loved Gwen and her mother, he had loved Aedirn more, and Aedirn had been a jealous wife. Much like the queen back then had been.

It had been a while since she had thought back to those days, Gwen realised. A surprise, considering the impact it had had on her during her youth. The lack of attention she had received from the king had left her a bitter child. Despite that, she had enjoyed almost every moment spent in his company. 

He had not taken her fishing, but he had read her stories whenever he had had a free moment during her occasional visits. The half-elf could even remember having had dinner with him a few times. Even less often, but therefore more precious, had been the nights she had slept in the castle and he had tucked her in. 

Remembering this used to bring tears to her eyes, combined with a painful tightening of her throat and chest. Now, however, she felt empty. Was this what peace felt like? Or was she simply too tired to hurt?

The months she had spent with the Scoia’tael had changed her. She could not deny that. Perhaps she had come to terms with her true nature after confronting the flaws in her reasoning.

That, however, had been before…

The thought slipped past her barrier before she could stop it. The rest followed soon after. Had any of it been real? Had Iorveth planned on this from the very beginning? Had the others known what would happen? That he would seduce her before selling her off as a mere bargaining chip? Had he faked throughout all those intimate moments with her? Gloated at her dwindling defences while she remained oblivious to it all? 

Elves… elves were the worst after all. With their unreadable faces and their holier-than-thou nature. Using everything… and everyone… for their own purposes…

Or had falling in love not been part of his plan?

Gwen did not know which was worse.

What about Cedric, then? Had he just lied to her about fate and destiny and all that? She could hardly protect Iorveth if he threw her out like garbage. But he had given her the message about her mother, with his dying breath at that, so she had to be able to trust him, right? Unless it had been his way of making up for his actions. Or just another lie.

A throbbing pain began to fill her skull. Gwen had no way of knowing anything for sure, about anyone. Had Ivor’s screams been an act as well? She didn’t know who she could trust, what had been real and what had been fake. Aderyn and Brigid, had they been her friends, or had they known as well?

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. She would spend the rest of her life wondering about all that, thinking about the Scoia’tael of Flotsam every time she met someone new. She would ask herself, “Can I trust this person? Will they become close to me only to betray me again?” 

One of the dh’oine asked her a question, but she turned her back towards them and rested her temple against the scratchy, wooden side of the wagon. 

But most importantly, she would be wondering: why?

~~~~

Gwen remained in that position, shifting only to pull her knees to her chest, even after the cart had stopped for the night again. The humans clambered out next to her, glancing at her as they passed her, but keeping their mouths shut. One of the guards whose name she thought to be Rodrick prodded her shoulder with a cold, gauntleted hand.

“C’mon girlie, get outta the wagon,” he said as he tried to pry her from the wood. 

The only response he got was a glare, and Gwen tightened her hold on herself and her seat. Off to the side, the fire was already burning and sleep rolls were being rolled out by Richard and another guard, while the remaining soldier stood before the other shackled prisoners.

Rodrick grunted, his annoyance visible in the vein that throbbed just above his eyebrow. His fingers twitched and the half-elf could almost feel his irritation like a blanket that settled on top of her. 

The corners of her lips curled upwards and she let out a snort. Humans would never change, would they? 

“You little…” She anticipated his next move, saw it in the stiffening of his body, but before either of them could do anything, a voice from behind him interrupted them. 

“What’s going on here?” Richard asked, crossing his arms as he came to stand beside Rodrick. 

“Nothing, sir.” Rodrick had straightened his back the very moment he heard his commanding officer and took a quick step back from the half-elf. “The prisoner was being… difficult.”

Gwen’s eyebrows rose at the sight of Richard’s smile. For as far as she could discern, it held no malicious intent. A friendly, albeit tired smile.

With a nod of his head, Richard stated, “Nothing new there. Perhaps you should go and help the others instead.”

Rodrick saluted and sauntered off towards the campfire, his shoulders and arms still rigid. When he was gone, Richard hopped onto the wagon beside Gwen, his legs dangling over the edge and his head leaning back as he looked up at the sky. 

“You know, my parents wanted me to be a scientist. They didn’t want to see their son joining the army, putting his life on the line for his country,” he stated without tearing his gaze away from the stars. “My mother is a famous scholar, analysing the identities of people who live in the slums or some such thing. I never got the need to look at and write about things. Why not just go out there and actually make life for the people in the slums better instead?”

When Gwen remained silent, he finally turned to her, the reflected light of the fire dancing in his eyes. “But I was set in my own ways, and decided to go against them. So, I left to live in the barracks of Vengerberg. I haven’t seen either of them, nor any of my siblings or cousins or any other family, since then. Even if some might have been proud of my decision, most likely my parents held them at bay to punish me.”

“Why are you telling me any of this?” the half-elf asked. Her head still rested against the side of the cart, her voice low and thick with fatigue.

Richard stared at her for a short while, mulling over her statement. His face was like an open book, his thought process child’s play for her to read. “Because I wish to get to know you.”

“You have known me for, what? Two days?” Gwen pointed out with a snort. “What about me could possibly have intrigued you so much?”

“Everything. You’re a Scoia’tael member and a half-elf. Plus, you’ve lived through five kings. I wager you have many a story to tell.” The dh’oine spread out his fingers, palms facing the darkening sky, as if offering her something. Whatever it was, she did not want it. Did not need it.

“I doubt that my life contains the kind of ‘intriguing’ you’re looking for, dh’oine,” she snapped at him. “And even then, it is not meant for your entertainment. Your kind can take what you want from me by force, you can rob me of my freedom for all I care, but I will never, _never_ , give you anything of my own free will.”

The human’s bright gaze was on her face again as he watched her, calculating. Something in his expression changed and his eyes seemed to darken, his face closing off. The sudden lack of emotion unsettled her and Gwen wondered if she had finally come under the scrutiny of a guard planning her demise.

His lips parted and he inhaled sharply. “I have not told this to many people, but my grandmother was a half-elf. Well, is. She now lives in some remote village near the western border, on her own. Moved there once my grandfather died. The rest of the family rarely spoke of her, because they were ashamed of the elven blood in us. Others have made our lives difficult for it, refusing to forget. Refusing to let us forget. Blamed us for things the Squirrels did when we had never met any. Even the superior officers overseeing my application doubted me.” Richard sighed deeply and passed a hand over his face, gloved fingers scratching against the slight stubble that covered his cheeks. “Only one truly believed in me, told me that elven blood— that it was nothing to be ashamed of. And it is because of him, an openminded human, that I sit here today. So maybe, just maybe, you could try to see ‘us’ in a different light, too?”

“Are you… are you being serious?” Now, it was Gwen’s turn to stare at him, her mouth hanging open. She even lifted her head, clenched her shackled hands into fists. Her nails dug into her palms, just as her restraints bit into her wrists. “Did you just compare such petty problems with all that I have been through? What your grandmother has been through? Telling me to… to _forgive_ you because of a little elven blood running through your veins?”

“To ‘forgive’ me for the actions of _others_. I have never needlessly hurt a non-human in my life. And those ‘petty problems’, as you call them, felt rather real and significant to me,” Richard stated in a calm voice that only managed to infuriate the woman even more. “You do not get to decide the weight of that. Or the impact it can have.”

“Then what do you have to say about _rape_?” the inh’eid hissed, her eyes narrowing to dark slits. Her arms had begun to tremble now, her shackles rattling ever so slightly.

Richard’s gaze flickered to them before he shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Are you claiming that… that such inconveniences are the same as someone being _raped_? Because— because they weren’t human. Not human _enough_.”

“You…” Richard swallowed and averted his gaze. “I never said such a thing. But it was very much my reality, and just because others, just because you had it worse, does not mean that my experiences do not count.”

“It’s _not_ –” 

“And speaking of which, I never said that… You mean, my grandfather, he didn’t die of old age,” the soldier said, staring at something in the distance, his brows furrowed as if in concentration.

“What about your grandmother?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You keep talking about your grandfather. What did your grandmother go through?”

“I don’t–”

“Go away.”

Richard’s eyes snapped back to hers. He opened his mouth a few times, almost as if he were chewing on something. “What?”

“Go away.” Gwen curled her knees to her chest and turned her back to him as best as possible in the cramped space of the wagon. “Leave me.”

First there was only the sound of the fire and people murmuring nearby. Then, a sigh and some scuffing. The cart dipped slightly, followed by the thuds of boots landing in the mud and armour clinking. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut at the noise, tightened her hold on her legs.

“Good night,” Richard said softly before he trudged off, leaving Gwen alone with her thoughts.

If she had been about the fall asleep before he came along, then that was now the furthest thing on her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody interested, for some reason Richard looks like Jaime Lannister from the Game of Thrones tv show in my head. No worries though, that doesn't say anything about his personality (OR DOES IT?).


	33. Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot, quick update! A short chapter, though, but all the tiny bits count, right?
> 
> The song for this chapter title is by Coheed and Cambria.

It began as a fever, a sense of heat that left Gwen feeling strangely cold. Though her clothes stuck to her skin, she couldn’t stop shivering. The sound of her shackles rattling was regularly heard. Thankfully, no one seemed to pay much mind to the crazed half-elf who refused to eat or speak. 

Then came the spells of dizziness that continued to take her by surprise. Even while sitting down, suddenly the world would tilt, leaving her stomach unsettled. She would hear her heart beating – loud and fast – and for half a moment she would wonder if this was it. If this was the moment in which she would die. It would always pass, though, and so she chalked it up to some illness she had caught. 

When the aching in her arm, which had never completely gone away to begin with, returned with a vengeance she knew she wasn’t sick. She held out for one sleepless night, the stabbing pain keeping her awake well past her limit. When it continued throughout the next day, she decided to pummel her way through her pride. 

By then, however, it was already too late. 

Darkness had fallen once more, and the group – now consisting of six prisoners, seven guards and two carts – stopped for the night. That day had gone by at a snail’s pace. A fight between captives had broken out during a stop at the previous village, forcing them to spend most of the hours of light there. The two captives had been split apart, each with a guard on them at all times. At least it gave Richard something else to do than bother her. 

“You look like shite,” Rodrick provided rather helpfully when he moved to let her out of the wagon once the camp had been set. Even with her mouth dry and her head spinning, from the way his brows rose, Gwen knew he hadn’t expected the half-elf to leave her seat.

In that moment, she was too busy trying to grasp the edges of the cart to thank him for his observation. With a grunt and a huff, she pulled herself up and took a step forward. Shadowy spots appeared in front of her in that exact moment, however, and she toppled over the edge of the wagon, crashing to the ground below. 

Raised voices came from everywhere all of a sudden. Hands that felt uncomfortable against her skin touched her all over, probing. She wanted nothing more than to push them away from her, wanted to scream at everyone to shut up and to leave her alone, but her body refused. The last thing she remembered was a feeling of weightlessness.

~~~~

Fire raged all around her. The flames licked at her, crawled up her limbs, merged with her skin until all else faded away. All that remained was heat, encasing her inside and out.

Burned her saliva, her dry mouth incapable of making any other sounds than the choking ones that came out of her. 

Burned the fluid in her eyeballs, causing them to shrivel up and fall out of her eye sockets like spent flowers during autumn. A screen of red replaced her sight, writhing and glowing as though a thousand tiny snakes had crawled into her head. 

Burned her hair, long and black and thicker than it had been in forever. Tresses that fell around her, caressing her arms while they slid down to her feet. Bare feet, standing in a puddle of hot liquid that came up to her ankles. 

The blinding hotness stuck to her forehead, where her wrinkles creased so deeply that they almost hurt. It clung to the cut on her shoulder, warmer than everywhere else. Wormed its way into her heart and almost choked her. And it nestled into her stomach, glowing and growing until she felt like she might burst. 

And then she opened her eyes and stared into a blue that looked so cold in that moment. She opened her mouth, but a tautness in her chest withheld her from speaking. Instead, she breathed in, only to find that she couldn’t. Her fingers clawed at her throat before something pushed them away. When her nails found the mattress beneath her, they clung to it as if it were life itself. 

All the while, she continued to gasp, mouth opening and closing until she simply gritted her teeth together. What little air she could breathe whistled in and out of her, sounding about as ineffective as it felt.

Over the sound of herself, she barely even heard it when somebody called out, “She’s going into shock!”

A different pair of eyes replaced the blue, darker and squinting down at her. Then they looked away. The person’s mouth moved, but all sound had become warbled and so Gwen did not know what they said. Hands were all over her again, and her heart thumped so loudly in her ears she wondered if they might start bleeding. 

A bowl neared her face, some sort of dark green liquid sloshing around inside of it. Poison. They were going to kill her. Or had they already done it? Was this really how she would go out? 

Through the burning of her chest and her arm and her entire body, she could only think, _Finally_.

Fingers pried her teeth apart and something held her head upright at an almost awkward angle. Before she could comprehend anything, the green stuff was entering her mouth, sliding down her throat in a cool stream that tasted like grass. Scrunching her face up, she tried to turn her face away, but those fingers dug into her chin and held her in place. 

When she thought she would choke and drown, it was gone. The back of her head met the mattress again, tears spilling from her eyes while she sputtered and coughed. She shuddered when she could almost _feel_ the liquid move around inside of her, but it was cold and strangely soothing. 

When her chest loosened, she inhaled deeply and refused to exhale for fear of choking again. 

“Breathe,” someone told her, a calm voice that still sounded like it came from the other side of a large clearing. Either way, she nodded and did as she was told, letting go of that breath. 

“And again.” And again. 

And again. 

Once Gwen was sure she wouldn’t almost die again, she looked up only to see Richard. His eyes had gone from the ice they had been moments earlier to the warm blue they usually were. The half-elf wondered just how expressive humans could be with only their faces, but the memory of feeling like death itself told her now was not a good time to find out. 

“Though we’d lost you for a moment,” he said, smiling as if nothing had happened. 

“Would…” Gwen’s voice came out like a hoarse whisper and she licked her lips. “Would you really have cared?”

The dh’oine nodded once, his lips now pressed into a thin line.

Gwen asked the one question that had been on her mind non-stop these past few days. “Why?” 

“A life’s a life,” Richard offered with a shrug of his shoulders, “doesn’t matter whose it is.”

_So you’d rather have me rotting in a cell ‘till the end of my days?_ she wanted to ask, but she didn’t. Instead, she gestured at herself rather weakly and muttered, “What happened?”

Though Richard opened his mouth, the response came from the other side of the room.

“The wound on your arm got infected.” Gwen’s eyes cut to a dark-skinned woman with black curls who entered the small room just then. The woman, however, only glared at Richard. “Most likely because _someone_ neglected to take care of it properly.”

A red flush covered Richard’s cheeks and he held his hands up as if to ward off the anger in the woman’s words. “We didn’t—”

“Yes, yes, you didn’t know,” the woman retorted with a roll of her eyes. One of her hips jutted out to the side when she reached the edge of the bed in which the half-elf lay. She placed a hand on her waist and turned her attention to Gwen, her eyes alight with amusement. “Men, right?”

While Richard choked on something and began to sputter, Gwen said, “I’ve never had an infected wound that… that did this.”

The woman laughed, the sound rough around the edges but so full and rich. “Lucky you, then.” When she stopped chuckling, she sat down beside the half-elf’s feet, all signs of mirth melting away. “This really cut it close. If you’d been any later, you wouldn’t have made it. I’ll spare you the details. For now, you should rest.”

Without the energy to protest, Gwen could only nod meekly and let the stranger do her thing, soft hands flitting around her body. Before long, she dragged the soldier out of the room with her and closed the door behind her. Darkness closing in on all sides, it didn’t take long for the half-elf to drift off.

~~~~

Rather faintly, the sound of chickens clucking and cows mooing came from outside. Murmurs could be heard from somewhere nearby, too soft to understand what they said. Gwen thought to recognise Ivor’s voice. Relief washed over her, together with the realisation that everything had just been a dream. A horrible dream. But she was home again, and she would roll onto her side and find herself staring into Iorveth’s eye…

An ache in her shoulder brought her back before the fantasy could take hold of her. When she opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of a ceiling and stone walls. She wanted nothing more than to claim that she was back in Vergen, wanted to believe it so very badly. The pain in her arm refused to let her go, though.

She wasn’t in Vergen, wasn’t with the Scoia’tael anymore. There was no Ivor, no Iorveth. Iorveth had…

With a wince, she pushed herself up. Though she still felt sore all over, as if coming down from the yearly illness that was doing the rounds, she knew she had improved since last time. At least she wasn’t almost dying now. 

She lifted a hand to the bandage on her arm. Even though the cloth, she noted that her skin had cooled down. Trying to be careful, she pulled the dressing away ever so slightly. The sight of a red, swollen cut greeted her, but it looked and smelled better than other infected wounds she had had. She let out a breath and the tension seeped out of her body. At least she wouldn’t lose her arm now. 

The movement caused the fabric of what she wore to move against her breasts and she hissed again. Pressing her hands against them, she noted they tingled painfully at her touch, a strange tightness that ached whenever they moved. The infected wound must have been worse than she suspected.

Though she still felt a bit lightheaded, energy ran through her, making her jittery. When her feet began to tap against the mattress, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her soles meeting the cold wooden boards on the ground. Only when she stood up did she realise she wore a white gown made out of thin, scratchy fabric instead of her normal clothes. No wonder her chest hurt against this thing. The sight and feel of a dress on her made her ball her hands into the fabric, fighting the urge to tear it off. 

“Good afternoon.” The same woman from before stood in the doorway, arms crossed as she took Gwen in. “How’re you feeling? You shouldn’t be up yet.”

“Didn’t feel like lying down anymore,” Gwen replied. Biting her lip, she wondered why she felt guilty. As if she had been caught in an act she shouldn’t have been doing. As if any of these humans had the right to tell her what to do. 

The stranger had probably noticed it and held her hands up, a small smile on her lips. “I can get that. Still, you should probably stay calm for a while longer. You look very pale.”

As she spoke, she moved closer to Gwen until she placed her hands onto her shoulders and pressed the half-elf back onto bed. She didn’t protest, falling back onto the mattress with a grunt. Stared at her bare feet. 

“How long has it been?” she asked without looking up.

“A day or three,” the woman responded while she checked Gwen’s wound for herself. “Doesn’t matter what I’ll say, you’ll probably leave soon enough. The others are getting restless.”

Gwen blinked at that. “They’re still here?”

“Of course they are. Couldn’t leave a prisoner here, unguarded, and couldn’t spare a guard either. Or something like that.” The medic stood up and walked over to one of the small cupboards in the room. Took out some fresh supplies and came to kneel in front of the half-elf again.

“For all you know I’m a wanted murderer,” Gwen commented under her breath.

That made the woman laugh again. “I’ll see it when I believe it. And anyway, I can defend myself.”

Something struck Gwen in that moment and she lifted her gaze again, her brows knit together. “Where are we, actually?”

“Not really anywhere.” The medic removed the bandage and busied herself with probing and cleaning the wound, humming as she did so. “A farm a short distance past the bridge to Vergen.” 

“A… a farm?” Gwen tilted her head to the side. “With a doctor?”

“Animals need doctors too. Not much difference between a horse and a human, if you think about it,” the woman replied with a shrug of her shoulders. Her tongue now poked out from between her lips as she reapplied a new set of bandages around the half-elf’s arm. 

The half-elf watched her work in silence until her eyelids became too heavy and instead she just sat there, trying her best to zone out. Maybe she should have tried harder to pick up some meditation skills in her life. Still, with the exhaustion that settled inside of her, her surroundings soon enough faded away, until all that existed were the fingers roaming her arm. 

When the warm hands disappeared, her eyes snapped open just in time to see the nurse get up and pack her supplies away. Richard stood in the doorway and Gwen would have glared at him if her body hadn’t felt like it weighed three times as much as it actually did. 

On her way out of the room, the woman murmured something to the man in a harsh voice before disappearing around the corner. The soldier took the chance to walk towards the chair that stood beside the right side of Gwen’s bed, behind her, and sat down in it. She followed him with her gaze but otherwise remained unresponsive. 

“I hear you’ve actually been quite kind to the human woman,” Richard stated with a raised brow. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight that squirmed its ways through the wooden shutters on the small window in the room. 

Grimacing, Gwen muttered, “The human woman saved my life. She can probably kill me, too, and I have no way of defending myself like this.” As if to prove her point, she tried to lift her arm and winced instead.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d have died in that wagon.” Richard’s elegant eyebrows disappeared beneath his golden locks. “Rodrick stood and just watched you until I happened to look over.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Without waiting for the human to respond, Gwen slipped back beneath the sheets and asked, “When are we leaving?”

The soldier shook his head, stray hairs falling into his eyes as he did so. “Is it just me or do you have a death wish?”

“When are we leaving?” the half-elf repeated without turning towards him. 

“Tomorrow morning,” Richard said after heaving a sigh. “We can’t afford to stay much longer, and Claire believes you’ll be fit enough to be on the road again by then.”

“Claire?”

“Yes. The woman who helped you.” Cloth rustled and armour clinked, followed by boots shuffling towards the door. “I… I’ll let you rest some more, then.”

And with that, the door was closed softly once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so this time I didn't even try and Claire is based on Claire Temple from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. She's cool, okay? And it fit. SUE ME!!! *runs away from the cops*


	34. Smother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I survived my first week at Ubisoft :D I've got two more chapters ready and waiting to be edited, so if I update weekly I hope I'll have enough time to keep this ball rolling. Don't wanna prolong the suffering of my dear readers, after all~ 
> 
> (who am I kidding lol)
> 
> "Smother" belongs to Daughter.

The hooves of the horses kicked up clouds of dust whenever they hit the ground. Summer seemed to have crept upon them quite suddenly this year, or perhaps Gwen simply hadn’t been conscious of the seasons. The blue sky stretched ahead of them behind the full treetops, not a fluff of white visible. It almost hurt to breath with how dry the air was, and flies buzzed around the heads of the travellers who tried to swat them away before they could land. The horses snorted and swished their tails on a regular basis.

A long breath escaped Gwen’s nose as she stared at her arms, which were covered by the sleeves of her familiar tunic, although someone had cleaned it during her… ‘stay’ at the farm. Claire’s words echoed inside her mind as she thought of the thin white lines that her sleeves hid from prying eyes. 

_“Who did this to you?” the doctor asked, her hands squeezing the half-elf’s wrist. Her eyes cut towards the door, and from the tenseness in her shoulders, Gwen knew that if she didn’t do something, the woman would charge out of here and murder somebody._

_“No one,” she replied as she tried to pull herself free, but the other would not let her go. “Just forget about it. They didn’t do anything.”_

_That seemed to catch her attention and Claire’s gaze met hers. Her eyebrows scrunched together and wrinkles appeared across her forehead. The moment of realisation was visible in her eyes that were so dark they were almost black. “You…”_

_This time, when Gwen pulled her arm back, Claire did not resist, her hands falling into her lap. She bit her lower lip and when she exhaled, her shoulders slumped. Before either of them could say or do anything, the door swung open._

_Before anybody could enter the room, however, Claire’s hand squeezed Gwen’s once, and with a small smile she said, “It’ll be all right. Trust me.”_

Words spoken with such conviction, they had somehow managed to struck a chord inside the half-elf, though she didn’t understand it herself. Six meagre words that anybody could say. Empty, meaningless. They would not take away the scars, nor the memories that they sheltered. They could not prevent the pain that was to come. Why, then, did Gwen find herself clinging to those two sentences like a prayer?

_It’ll be all right. Trust me._

What could a doctor who primarily worked with animals possibly know about any of this? Why couldn’t she just forget what she had said? Why did it always come back to ‘why’? Gwen cringed every time she heard or thought of that one word, as if it were an attack on the mental barrier she had raised around herself. 

A dull ache pulsed through her arm in time with her heartbeat, but it barely hurt anymore. Richard had deemed that enough of a requirement to drag her back onto the cart with the others and leave. Another guard, Francis, muttered about all the time they had lost because of her, but she only shot him a sweet smile. At least, as sweet a smile that she could muster when standing on shaky legs and working on a mostly empty stomach, disregarding the broth that Claire had all but shoved down her throat. The strange soreness in her chest she could ignore now that she had bound herself up properly once more. 

The two captives who had been with her at the beginning were softly talking to each other again. The two guards manning the cart had stopped snapping at them a while ago, which in turn softened the atmosphere surrounding the prisoners. It looked like the two humans were on a casual daytrip, not on their way to prison. 

Much like her, the large man who sat beside her remained silent throughout it all. Gwen still did not know what his voice even sounded like. Even so, she felt most at ease next to him, despite his pungent smell. He had not tried to strike a conversation with her like the others had. That made him all right in her book. 

She guessed that, since she did not speak to him either, he tolerated her presence more than he did that of the others. The fact that he had almost crushed the dh’oine’s head who had tried to get too close to him only strengthened that thought. Then again, that dh’oine had muttered something to him when she got close enough and had rather obviously had intentions that were less than savoury. 

No, the most interaction Gwen had had with the big man had consisted of eye contact after Claire had allowed her to climb the cart by herself. She was just fine with that. 

With the warm days came the lengthening of them. Before the shit with her arm, she had mostly slept, drifting in and out of various states of wakefulness only to find that time had jumped to somewhere in the future. In a way that was almost more tiring than whatever was actually making her tired in the first place. 

Now, although she continued to doze off occasionally, she often had her eyes open and witnessed more of the days. Their unbearable length, for one. She almost wished she could just sleep the rest of the trip away again. Especially when the sun began to sink, casting the world in shadows, their surroundings became less visible. With nothing to catch her eye, Gwen quite frankly was bored out of her mind.

“I think we’ve gone far enough for today,” Richard announced the very moment she nodded off again.

Out of habit, Gwen watched the others shuffle out of the wagons. Francis stood next to the burly man even before his feet hit the ground. The same was the case for his enemy in the other cart, who scowled at the man without a name. Rodrick glanced at Gwen and lingered while the others set up camp, but he didn’t talk to her. 

Before long, Richard climbed into the cart. This time he had a bowl in each hand, which he held up in the air as he sat next to her. Once he had settled down, he handed one to her, his head cocked to the side. The stew smelled a little bit better this time and Gwen’s stomach groaned again. 

With a sigh, she accepted it, bringing a spoonful of it to her lips. Saliva gathered in her mouth even before she opened her mouth, and before she knew it, she began to shovel it onto her tongue. It hadn’t had the chance to cool down and she had already she emptied the bowl, her tongue aching from the stew’s scalding hotness. 

Richard stared at her, blue eyes wide. He held his spoon in his hand but otherwise his food remained untouched. Then, the corners of his lips twitched and he sputtered before he burst into laughter. He almost spilled his stew with how his body shook. 

“I doubt that reaction was called for,” Gwen muttered. In an attempt to hide her burning cheeks, she lowered her head and hid her face behind her hair. It had grown long enough to barely reach her shoulders and easily slid forward to shield her from his sight. 

“S-sorry.” Richard chuckled a couple more times and reached out, forefinger brushing strands of black hair behind her ear before it moved to push her chin up. Gwen jerked away from him and he dropped his hand to hold his bowl again. “Sorry.”

The half-elf shook her head and parted her lips. She felt guilty for the holdup she had caused, wanted to be less harsh on him. Wanted to say that it didn’t matter. But she couldn’t. Every time she tried to speak, she would see Elric in front of her with that look of hatred and disgust on his face. 

Humans, in their diverse appearances, all resembled each other in some way or other when it came to one thing, and that was how they treated that which they did not know. Richard himself had shown it in his pity for himself and his grandfather while completely disregarding his grandmother’s experiences. 

No, it wasn’t a human thing… It was something all living beings did. Elves were just as bad. Why… why else would Iorveth have thrown her out, but for her mixed nature? Half-elves were just something nobody could understand. They didn’t want to understand, either. And they never would. 

But maybe… Maybe she could try to cut herself some slack without trusting anybody. 

Though his laughter had long since died down, Richard stayed by her side, silently eating his food while looking over at the campfire and the humans surrounding it. Gwen leaned her head back and took in the multitude of stars scattered across the dark sky, spread out in irregular patterns and shining with varying degrees of brightness. 

“Do you…” She licked her lips, wincing slightly at the throbbing of her tongue. “Do you know any constellations?” 

“What?” Richard whipped his head towards her. From the corner of her eye, the half-elf saw him scrunch his face up in confusion. 

She gestured towards the sky. “I asked if you knew any constellations.” 

Still frowning, he looked up. Then his mouth formed an ‘o’ before it curled into a grin. “Not really. Sorry to disappoint. Didn’t take you for the type to be interested in that kind of thing, to tell you the truth.”

“That one, over there,” Gwen began, pointing towards a group of lights, “is called the mushroom.” She ignored Richard narrowing his eyes at her and moved her finger towards a different place. “This one they call the tree of life.”

“Looks more like a broomstick to me.”

“No, it’s a tree. And that, the one just to the right, is known as the nekker.”

“ _Nekker_? Did they put something in the stew?”

“Over there you can see…” 

The two of them continued going back and forth until their conversation dwindled and Gwen fell asleep, her head dipping down to rest of his shoulder.

~~~~

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the day after proved itself even hotter than the one before. The very moment Gwen opened her eyes, it was to find herself sweaty and uncomfortable. For the first time since leaving Vergen, she was the first of the prisoners to wake up, though the guards were already up and about. 

Rodrick and Richard stood watch by the campfire while Francis and another guard busied themselves with removing their breastplates. They set them on the ground and removed their chainmail and undershirts until they were half-naked. Their skin shone with sweat, which wasn’t much of a surprise since they must have worn their armour almost nonstop these past few days. 

Richard laughed and yelled something at them, but Gwen didn’t catch what he said. She sat up, stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders until she felt her back pop. Her tunic chafed against her skin and, in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to lower herself into a pond of cold water. 

Before the image of Iorveth by the waterfall could take root inside of her mind, she got on her hands and knees and crawled to towards the back of the cart. Behind her, a soldier sat at the front of the wagon, his dark eyes on her as he sharpened his knife. She ignored his gaze and, with a sigh, took a seat at the edge.

The guards by the campfire laughed again. When Gwen glanced at them, Richard made his way towards her holding a skin in his hands while the others set about waking the others. 

“We’re leaving sooner than planned,” he said as he handed her the skin. “If it’s already this warm, we should try to get as far as possible until it gets too hot. There should be a river further down the road, so we’ll probably make a stop there.”

Taking a sip from the skin, the half-elf determined its contents to be water and gulped down enough to satisfy her suddenly parched throat. With a nod, she gave it back to him before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She moved back onto the wagon while watching Richard move around the camp with the skin of water. 

The other prisoners moved rather sluggishly towards their carts, complaining loudly about the heat until one of the soldiers snapped at them to shut up. By the time all of them had found their respected seats, the horses had been attached to the wagons and the camps had been cleaned up. 

In this weather, even just doing nothing was too much. Francis manned the horses still without his armour, as did one of the guards on the cart behind them, much to Richard’s dismay. He didn’t pull rank, however, probably understanding that, at this rate, they were more likely to die of a heatstroke than a blade or an arrow. 

The nameless man beside Gwen even let out a sigh at one point, surprising her. She glanced at him and noted that his cheeks were red, but he kept his arms crossed over his broad chest and pretended to ignore everything. Their eyes met and the half-elf quickly averted her gaze. Somehow, for some reason, he had almost seemed pleased, and she felt like knowing that broke some unspoken contract they had had. 

By the time Richard signalled for the horses to stop, most of the prisoners had all but melted into puddles, despite the fact that they had yet to reach the hottest point of the day. A rush of excitement went through the humans, who stopped the carts and released the horses in record time. Even the animals seemed glad for the break. 

In the blink of an eye, Gwen was sat on the grass beside the calm, shallow river that meandered throughout this region, her breeches rolled up to her knees so she could bathe her legs in the cool water. She tried to concentrate on the noise of the others chattering like a group of children instead of prisoners and guards, although the soldiers remained tense throughout it all. Tried to watch them wade through the stream. 

Suddenly, the sound of water lapping at a shore brought with it the musky smell of sweat, blood and leather, as well as a hint of burning wood and roots. The memory was so strong that it overtook her at once.

_He shifted closer, pressing his body against hers, and looked down at her. She craned her neck, her cheeks turning pink as she noticed the lack of distance between their lips. His breath fanned across her face, and they stood like that for a few moments, her eyes staring at his face. She wanted to be defiant, to push him away, to smirk at what seemed to be his affection for her... But at the same time, she craved it just as much as she wanted to sneer at it._

_His lashes were so long, Gwen noticed all of a sudden. She tried, again, to ignore the scar that ran down his cheek, the sunken hollow where once an eye had been. What did it feel like to have one’s eye removed from one’s socket? A shiver ran down her spine at that thought, and so she tried to banish it from her mind._

_Still he waited. For her. Seeing him in front of her, eye shut, mouth almost against hers, something inside of her fluttered. Nobody had ever waited for her._

_And so she closed the distance between them._

_Rough fingers wound themselves in her hair, deepening the kiss instantly as his tongue found hers. His hips brushed against her stomach, together with something else, and the half-elf placed her hands upon his breast, which was surprisingly soft to the touch. Iorveth understood at once and kept his distance… at least when it came to his lower body._

_His tongue moved against hers in rough strokes, teeth occasionally clashing with the urge the two of them had to touch each other in as many places as possible. Her hands roamed his body, caressing every scar she found, and as his hold on her hair remained, his other hand slid down her neck. It caressed the dip of her collarbone, stroked her shoulder, and she winced when his thumb brushed over the arrow wound._

Somebody heaved a sigh beside her. With a gasp, Gwen snapped out of her stupor. Her heart hammered in her chest when she turned to find the nameless man climbing out of the river to sit next to her. His drenched trousers clung to his legs as he did so, emphasising the muscles of this thighs. Now that it had finally been washed, the hair on his head revealed itself to be dark brown, almost black. Drops of water slid down his arms and chest, getting tangled up in the hair that covered his skin. 

Gwen watched the droplets for a moment, though she was mostly fascinated by the appearance of coarse hair on a man’s body. Sure, she had seen it once or twice from far away, especially then with the other half-naked humans splashing about in the water right in front of her. Up close, she had never witnessed it before – Elric, with his fair hair, had barely had any at all.

Before he could realise she had been staring at him, she forced her attention back to the matter at hand. The two of them watched the humans wash themselves in silence, the forest around them coming to life with all different kinds of sounds, from the chirping crickets to the pecking woodpeckers. 

And still, right then, Gwen felt like she was the only thing alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO AGAIN. The nameless man is totally also based on my current favourite character in the Daredevil tv show, but because of plot reasons (the name), you'll found out who it is in exactly two chapters.


	35. Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter! The shorter they are, the quicker I can get them done and updated ^^ Also the story moves faster this way, and I believe that most of you are really just waiting around for Iorveth, hahaha. No Iorveth here yet! He'll probably remain absent for a while longer, though I'm trying to find a nice spot to squish him in somewhere, somehow.
> 
> Sorry by Kensington (gotta get some Dutch bands in here)

Her bandages were refreshed twice by Richard, who made a point of doing it after getting his ear chewed off by Claire, before the tall walls of Vengerberg began to rise in the distance. Whatever conversation people might have been having, it all died down at the sight of the imposing ramparts that went around the entire city. The pressure of what the future held for them became almost palpable, and Gwen felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore. 

Before she left Vengerberg, she had spent almost every living moment there, barring the few times she had gone out into the woods with her mother. The last time she had set eyes upon the city, her mother’s burnt corpse had substituted that of her own, buried beneath the remains of the house in which she had been born. Seeing it again after who knew how many years… It made her dug the jagged edges of her nails into her palms, the sharp pain grounding her. For now. 

The man sitting next to her shifted in his seat, but when Gwen looked at him she saw that he was watching at her. He did not seem to care that he had been caught staring, his eyes – the colour of honey – never once leaving hers. She averted her gaze towards the dark crescents on her palms. 

Three carts, carrying nine prisoners and guarded by eleven soldiers hobbled closer towards Aedirn’s capital city. A line of people stood in front of the tall gates, merchants and visitors trying to get to the other side of the wall while soldiers checked everything and everyone. With the many Scoia’tael attacks, the humans liked to think they could avoid trouble by being careful.

Their group passed the queue and received glares from those waiting for their turn, though the gazes mellowed when they realised who they were. Gwen felt their eyes on her ears as they came closer to the gates. 

It was strange to think that many of the humans who had lived in Vengerberg when she left were now dead. She wondered what had happened to the nonhumans she had known, what her old street looked like. Whether everything had been rebuilt. Did others now live there, like nothing had ever happened? Like it didn’t even matter?

The guards at the front of the line let them through even before the horses stopped, and before she knew it, Gwen craned her neck to take in the new warehouses of the merchant’s quarter they had just entered. The edges of the quarters consisted mostly of buildings like this, filled with all different kinds of products. Some of those products would stay here only for a short while before being transported elsewhere, whereas the rest would find its way to the markets that Vengerberg was known for.

Had been known for. 

If there was one upside to the fact that Gwen’s mother had been killed and she herself had fled the city, it was that neither of them had been around for the Invasion of Dol Angra. Four years later, signs of the battle were still visible. One could see it in the new, modern buildings that stood next to empty lots. There were more products than there was space, and builders roamed the area carrying wood and other supplies. 

If a place like the merchant’s quarter had not yet caught up, Gwen did not want to imagine what the slums looked like.

Luckily, she would not find out just yet. Richard guided the cart in the opposite direction of the slums, instead moving them closer towards the centre of the city. Even from where they were, the castle of Vengerberg rose like a mountain on a flat plane. Though Gwen noted the fact that some towers had disappeared and others had sprung up, it still looked much the same as it had twenty years ago.

Of course it did. As long as the king and his family was safe and sound, what did it matter if a few thousand poor sods were dragged off and tortured? 

The people in the streets stopped what they were doing to stare at the wagons that passed them by. It took a single glance to their shackles and the guards to figure out what they were seeing. Some of the passers-by leered and yelled at them. A couple even began to throw rocks and fruit. 

A human pointed at her and spit Gwen in her face just before she could turn away. Though his voice was swallowed by the clamour of those around him, the word on his lips was obvious. _Elf._

On the cart behind them, one of the captives got up from her seat and roared loudly. She tried to launch herself from her seat and into the crowd, snarling like a wild dog. It would have worked, had Francis not anticipated the move and positioned his horse just so that he could grab her before she got too far. As though she were a sack of potatoes, he threw her back into the wagon, where another guard had unsheathed his sword. 

Gwen watched the ordeal feeling strangely empty, even more so when she recognised herself in the young woman. Only half a year ago, she might have acted exactly the same had she been put in this situation. Fuck that, she _had_ acted like this on several occasions. Now, however… Now she could only stare, too tired to wind herself up. She no longer had the energy to care. 

The prisons were built beneath the castle but could only be entered through a small doorway at the back of the humongous building. Narrow pathways greeted them and they had to walk in single file to make their way deeper into the dark, wet jail. If one ignored the lack of freedom one had down here, the coolness that reigned here was almost a pleasant exchange for the sweltering heat outside. 

Leading them was Richard, who took them through the building towards their cells. Guards and prisoners mingled in the line, prisoners shackled and deprived of the possibility to move properly while guards held their weapons at the ready. Two soldiers finished the line, just in case anybody got any stupid ideas. 

The same woman from before tried once more to escape, breaking free from the rest with a desperate cry. A soldier was on her even before she had taken her third step, however, all but tackling her to the stones, at which she promptly began to shriek and kick and claw at her captor. It took Rodrick and a third guard to restrain her as they dragged her away. While they watched them go, Francis tapped his unsheathed sword against a wall, his eyes taking in their faces as they passed him by. 

Gwen had no idea how much time had passed by the time everyone had been locked up in their respective cells. Her clothes were replaced by what could only be described as a ragged set of bags, but at least they allowed her to keep her bindings for her chest. 

By some strange turn of events, she shared her cell with the nameless man, whose jawline was already being covered with quite a stubble that bordered on an actual beard. The walls dividing the cells were made of stones, depriving her of the view of her neighbours, but she could see those on the other side of the path just fine.

This was not the first time she had found her way to this dungeon. It seemed strange to think that she had most likely been down here before most of the humans currently here were born. As if she hadn’t already felt old enough these past few days. 

With a sigh, she settled herself on the thin layer of straw in a corner at the back of the cell. Now all she could do was wait.

~~~~

Hours faded and blended into each other, and Gwen spent most of them teetering on the border between sleep and wakefulness. She went back to ignoring her food, finding whatever this place served to be even less appetising than what the guards had made on the road. With the silent man keeping her company, nobody bothered talk to her, and that suited her just fine as she confined herself to her own little world. Since Richard had other guardly duties to attend to in Vengerberg, she rarely saw him anymore.

As such, she had no idea how much time had passed when the sound of footsteps echoed throughout the dungeon. The lack of armour clinking seemed to pique the interest of the other prisoners, who crawled to their grates and watched the new arrival draw closer. 

“Well, well, well,” an annoyingly familiar voice drawled, dragging the half-elf out of her daze. “If it isn’t Gwen. Funny meetin’ you here.”

Standing before her on the other side of cell door was Quinn, one of the few half-elves Gwen knew. He looked exactly as he had twenty years ago, his human blood making him larger than even most full-blooded humans, his square shoulders easily filling up rooms with his imposing stature. The only sign of his elven nature lay in the sharpened tips of his ears.

“You haven’t changed at all,” she murmured and stepped towards him, reached for his face with dirty, calloused fingers. The scar she had once carved into his cheek during practice, that started just beneath his left eye and ran down his jaw to disappear in the stubble there, was exactly like she remembered it. He looked older, his dark hair greying at the edges, but that was to be expected with the prominence of his human features. It seemed surreal that he was still alive, a piece from her past that she had thought all but gone. 

“You look like shit,” he offered with a grin, showing off his sharp canines. “I thought I look old and I’m probably supposed to age like this. You look like you’re three hundred.”

Gwen snorted and shook her head weakly. “I feel like it, too.”

“Speakin’ of which…” His gaze moved from her to the other occupant of her cell, to the cells that stretched out throughout the dungeon, then back to her. “How did you even end up here? I thought you were… Y’know.” He hesitated for a moment. “Dead.”

“I could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I? Weren’t you here when Nilfgaard attacked? How did you survive that?” the half-elf retorted with a raised brow. 

With a bark of laughter, Quinn held his hands up in front of him, palms facing her. “Still deflectin’ questions like a professional, I see. A lot of us made it out just in time. Not everyone sees an army comin’ and thinks, ‘You know what? We’ll stay just here. What could possibly go wrong?’” He sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “When reports came in that Aldersberg was under attack, many of us decided to get out while we still could. Came back as soon as the fightin’ was over to start rebuildin’, though.”

Gwen had half a mind to ask who, exactly, ‘us’ was in this story, but it didn’t really matter in the end. Quinn was alive and standing in front of her. That was more important than whether he grouped himself with humans or nonhumans. At least for now. Then again, she had given him enough shit for that in the past. His scar was a testament to that. 

“Glad to hear that, then. What would they have possibly done without you?” she jibed, but received no response. 

Lowering his head, Quinn rested his forehead against an iron bar of the grates and still managed to stare down at her with his insistent gaze, his pale blue eyes poking holes in her mental armour. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “I thought you were _dead_. Your house— scratch that, the whole _street_ was gone, and so were you. Do you have any idea what that looked like? What it felt like?”

“Yeah, well, I had to actually live through it,” Gwen snapped and glared at the toes of her bare feet. As soon as the anger had appeared, however, it also ebbed away, and she slumped against the stone wall with a sigh. “The fire, it was meant for me. A present from Demavend, I suppose. My mother saved me from death by sending me to the market. Didn’t save me from the sight of the house on fire, though. So, I ran.”

The man’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the strands of light brown hair that covered his forehead. “Ran? Just like that? Didn’t even check to—”

“Just like that,” the other stated through gritted teeth as she looked up again. “Stayed in Aedirn until recently, though. Mostly kept to the forests, away from villages, that kind of thing.”

Quinn clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times, never once breaking eye contact. His inner conflict was visible in the way the lines around his mouth deepened and how his eyes, which darted around her for signs of who knew what, narrowed slightly. Finally, he asked, “Until recently?”

“I, ah… got caught. Stennis sent me to Flotsam, sold me to the commandant there, on the condition that I never return. I found the Scoia’tael there, or rather, they found me, and…” The half-elf swallowed thickly and went back to staring at her feet. “Took me in. Until we travelled to Vergen, where Stennis also happened to be, and then… I ended up back here.” 

“I get the feelin’ that you’re leavin’ out most of it,” Quinn remarked dryly after a short pause. 

“If you get me some pen and paper, I’ll make a book out of it for you.”

“Don’t bother. You know I don’t like to read.” Just like that, whatever tension had existed between them disappeared, and Quinn reached forward to flick her forehead. She let out a yelp, but before she could react, he said, “This sure brings back memories though, doesn’t it? You basically grew up in this place.”

“What do you mean, ‘growing up’?” Gwen shook her head, a small smile playing on her chapped lips. “By the time we met, I was older than you’ll ever be.”

At that, Quinn choked on his spit and doubled over, coughing and laughing at the same time, which only made his sputtering all the worse. “I already _am_ older than you were back then!”

“Really?” The woman gasped loudly and pressed a hand to her chest, ignored the discomfort it caused in her breasts. “That human blood of yours is a real shit show, isn’t it? Older than I was when we met, and still I look better than you do.”

“Oh fuck off. You look like a right pile of shit yourself.”

“Now, Quinn, that’s not something you tell your elder.” 

“Then act like it.” 

The sound of them laughing softly rang throughout the narrow path and Gwen stopped, suddenly feeling conscious of herself. Quinn’s chuckles died down soon afterwards. 

Grasping an iron bar in each hand, Gwen, suddenly serious, muttered, “How did you know I was here anyway?”

“I heard of a half-elf who was bein’ held prisoner down here. Since there aren’t many who get in here alive, I decided to ask around, heard some mentions of Stennis’s bastard aunt-somethin’. So, I decided to pay you a visit,” Quinn offered with a slight shrug. 

“But _why_? Why did you come? We haven’t seen each other in twenty years. So much has changed.” Exhaling deeply, Gwen bit her lip and shook her head so that strands of her hair shifted to cover her face. 

Her friend didn’t need to see what had become of her. He had known her the way Elric had moulded her, angry and bitter and full of hate. Though she had never told him of what had happened, he had gathered enough bits and pieces by himself, mostly from conversations with her mother. But he had still known her when she was still so… alive, although perhaps she hadn’t felt like actually having a life. 

Now… now she felt like a broken shell of what she once was. Exhausted, devoid of the will to fight for the next day. Whereas in the past, she would have taken on anybody who even looked at her strangely, in that moment, she couldn’t have cared less. And it shamed her, especially now that she stood beside a fragment of her former life. She didn’t want him to see her like this. 

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Her old friend looked at her, incredulous. His eyes sought hers for a sign of… whatever. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he lowered his brows. He glanced at something off to the side and said, “Just comin’ to check up on a friend I haven’t seen in far too long. I work here now, y’know, so I’ll never be far.” As if remembering something, he took a step away from the cell. “Speakin’ of which, my break ends soon, so I better go back. Don’t you do anythin’ stupid, okay?” 

Gwen watched him go with a frown, chewing her lower lip as she did so.


	36. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp! I didn't update last week as promised because I switched the chapters up a bit. As a result, this chapter is much longer than originally planned, mostly because I added a certain scene at the end of this, though I had meant for it to appear in the next chapter. The things I do for my readers, eh? Anyways, enjoy! Hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> Song is Cold by Maroon 5.

“Have you been behaving yourself?” Richard asked, the amusement clear on his face and in his voice. There were bags beneath his eyes, which brought out the brightness of his eyes. His hair was dirty, though, and his armour was covered in mud in some places. 

Gwen almost felt bad for the human as she shrugged in response. Almost. “I do my best.”

The dh’oine grinned, dimples appearing in the flesh of his cheeks. Then he nodded at her. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine,” the half-elf responded. Without thinking, she placed a hand on the bandages. They hadn’t been refreshed in quite a while, but she doubted that was necessary at this point. 

“And your new friend giving you any trouble?” His blue eyes cut towards the figure who sat against wall at the back of the cell, his head bent forward as he snored. 

With a sigh, Gwen got up from her spot and stepped towards the grate. “Why are you here?”

Richard looked both ways before he leaned closer, his nose almost touching the bars. “We’ve received word that Stennis is on his way back. There seems to have been some trouble in Vergen, but he’ll arrive soon. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Well, because…” The man lifted his shoulders and raised his arms in a wild gesture. “Then maybe you could prepare yourself. Mentally.”

“Prepare myself mentally for my death.” Gwen nodded, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her back straight. “Understood.”

Blanching, Richard looked taken aback. Sometimes the half-elf just couldn’t help but wonder what kind of sheltered life this man had to have led. Or how he had managed to work his way up to whatever he was right now without realising the realities of this world. “What have you done that would warrant a death sentence? You haven’t killed anybody, have you?”

With a hum, Gwen tilted her head to the side and bit back a laugh. Instead, she said, “We had a deal and I broke my end of the bargain.”

Even though she hadn’t had any choice in the matter.

And just like that, something clicked.

Her limbs trembled, hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Anger rose from the depths of her mind, wild and raging and burning every thought it touched. 

She may have broken her part of the deal. Stennis, on the other hand, had never kept his in the first place. ‘Second chance’ her ass, he had _sold_ her, betrayed her even before he had tempted her with the offer. And now he dared place the responsibility at her feet. She would pay for a situation he had forced her in. 

With a roar, Gwen slammed her fist against the wall and let these feelings of frustration out by screaming. The satisfaction of the few crumbs of stone that fell to the ground was overshadowed by the burst of pain that erupted in her hand and ran all the way up to her shoulder. 

As if out of nowhere, the nameless man stood behind her, his face devoid of emotion. His eyes cut towards Richard, whose hands were poised as if ready to catch her, before they moved towards hers. Gwen’s shoulders heaved as she tried to catch her breath from the sudden flare of emotions. Her breath whistled through teeth, which she ground together to keep the rest of her rage bottled up. 

The conversations that the other inmates had been having until then seemed to have died down. Only the sounds of life from outside of the dungeon seeped in through the cracks of the wall – the few birds singing and people murmuring and merchants shouting – and somewhere a drop of water kept hitting the ground. Other than that, Gwen’s heavy breathing was all that could be heard.

Until Richard cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “You know I can’t really understand any of this if you refuse to answer my questions.”

“She doesn’t have to answer your questions,” a baritone voice stated. 

“I… I get that. And I understand that she doesn’t trust me. And…” He trailed off and his entire body seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry. But whatever… whatever happened between Stennis and you, I’m sure he will decide to do the right thing. He’s been a righteous ruler until now, although since his father’s death he hasn’t had a lot of time to prove himself.” After a moment of hesitation, he took a step back and left with a small smile.

Once his footsteps had receded, rounding a corner somewhere in the distance before disappearing completely, the man without a name moved away from her. He returned to his seat at the back of the cell and, with a grunt, sat down against the wall.

Gwen leaned her shoulder against the stones and watched him. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” came the gruff response. 

“But I could’ve handled it myself,” the half-elf added as she padded over to her corner.

His gaze caught hers before it moved back to the space between his feet, which he had planted against the ground. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself. Was getting on my nerves.”

Gwen stared at the ceiling. After the sudden outburst, she felt even more tired than she had grown accustomed to these days. When she closed her eyes, however, sleep would not come to her. She couldn’t help thinking of the hurt look on Richard’s face. How she had recognised herself in him. 

The old her from before everyone, from before her mother’s death and Elric and everything else. The her who had only wanted to be with her father, who had wanted to make him proud. Who had only wanted his acknowledgement.

Gnawing on her lower lip, the half-elf closed her eyes and found her sinking into a spiral of memories. Of every time her father had ruffled her hair. Of every time he had pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

She thought of Videmont, who had been born a year after her. Being human as well as the queen’s firstborn son, of course he had been favoured by everyone. Even so, her father had tried his best to keep everyone happy. In the end, Videmont and she had become as close as proper siblings, though she recalled little of it; most of what she knew came from her mother.

All she herself remembered of Videmont, was one particularly sunny day, the only one where the whole family had come together and not one nasty remark had been made. It had been the day Videmont’s first and only daughter was born. Somehow, she had been the first one to be summoned, a panting servant standing in front of their front door and wheezing, “It’s… time…!” 

She had dragged her mother all the way to the palace. In front of the room in which his wife was giving birth, Videmont had been pacing back and forth, a hand clasped over his mouth. He had greeted her with a hug, his shaking limbs refusing to let her go even when the queen arrived moments later.

Her mother and the queen had exchanged nothing more than a neutral glance, which was the best thing that could possibly happen when one put them in the same room. When her father arrived, he had placed a hand on both their shoulders and pulled them to his sides as a grin spread across his face. Gwen never saw her mother happier than in that moment. 

Videmont had not let go of her hand while they waited, listening to the wails that came from the other side of the door. His fingers had squeezed hers at every sound and she had squeezed back just as hard while they fixated their gazes on the massive wooden door. 

When, finally, said door had opened and a nurse gestured for Videmont to come inside, the half-elf had offered him a smile before pushing him towards the room. He had gone reluctantly, dragging his feet across the carpet. The others had to remain outside.

Before long, it had swung open once more. This time, Videmont had stepped outside holding a tiny bundle in his arms, a grin on his face. Tears had glittered in his eyes and, all but ignoring his mother, he had held the baby out for Gwen.

That moment she could remember as clear as though it was the day itself. She even knew the exact thoughts that had gone through her mind, what she had felt. She had been surprised by the fact that he had chosen her to hold his child first, and a strange sense of pride had swelled inside of her as she took the child in her arms. 

Her niece. Half-niece, if one delved into the technicalities, but she had seen Videmont too much as her brother to even consider that.

The half-elf had all but cried when her brother had asked her if she wanted to become the girl’s guardian. Though the look the queen had shot her had not gone unnoticed, Gwen couldn’t have cared less in that moment, and she had nodded.

And she had been the best damn guardian to have ever existed. She paid the price for that when Agnes ran off to marry Esteril years later, but in that moment, she had had no idea of what the future held in store for her. Did not know that, within seven years, she would fall in love and have a child of her own. Did not know that that would ultimately lead to her demise. 

Within five years, her father had died, his last wish being that she “took care of herself.” Soon afterwards, Videmont had been crowned king. Having no more time to spend with her, he had neglected her when she had needed him the most, and so instead she had sought the company of a handsome man she had recently met on her way to the market.

Elric had been more than willing to take care of her, and in turn she had fallen in love with him. The thing about meeting someone when at one’s lowest, however, was the fact that one depended on them for any kind of stability. Despite his switch in personality, despite her mother’s warnings, she could not have left him, since she had needed him to stand. 

Which was why she had crashed so very badly once he left. Videmont had caught her that day, had heard of what had happened. But when he did not vow revenge on her account, could offer her no more than a sympathetic pat on the back, she had known that whatever the two of them had had was long gone. 

As if Gwen had buried all of this deep inside of her, memories from the period afterwards came to her while she sat in that cold dungeon cell on a pile of straw. The feelings she had saved for her son, she had poured into her niece, despite her broken relationship with the girl’s father. She had watched from afar as Agnes fell in love with the young count from Kovir, stricken with fear that she would go through the same. 

When Agnes eloped, Gwen had been the first target on Videmont’s warpath. She could not recall the exact words that they had exchanged, but knew that had been the last time she had spoken to her brother. It hadn’t taken long before he became a grandfather, and by then there would have been no place for the half-elf to begin with.

Stuck in her memories, just before she fell asleep, Richard appeared before her. This time she stood beside him.

~~~~

With a sigh, Gwen pushed the food around in her bowl with her spoon. Her head felt woozy and her stomach growled softly, but she simply did not feel like eating. Still, she brought a spoonful to her lips and ate it. Since waking up that day, her head had been pounding relentlessly. Perhaps some food would help with that.

Taking her time with the meal, she had barely gotten halfway through it when her cellmate approached her, clutching something in his hands. 

“Up for a game?” was all that he asked when he raised the object in his hand.

“…cards?” Gwen asked, lowering her bowl to the floor and tilting her head.

Without waiting for a response, the nameless man sat down in front of her, already shuffling through the pack. Gwen watched the flurry of cards before accepting the two that were handed to her, one face up – a four of spades – and one face down.

“Still remember how to play?” her opponent asked, and the half-elf almost thought she heard a teasing note in his voice. 

“Depends on what we’re playing.” Gwen straightened her back, her eyes never leaving her cards – the four of spades and a six of diamonds – even as she kept the man in her vision. 

He placed the rest of the pack to the side as he peeked beneath one of his cards, the other being a nine of clubs. “Some good ol’ Blackjack.” When Gwen hesitated, he continued, “Gotta go to twenty-one, but not over. Whoever ends closest to it wins. You want another card, then grab it. If not, then don’t.”

“Right.” She reached for another card – a five of spades – and went for another. A three of hearts. Biting her lip, she nodded once. 

As she watched the nameless man add cards to his pile, she frowned. Why were they doing this? Where had he even gotten these cards? What did he want to accomplish with this? Entertain her? …distract her?

He revealed his cards, placing them on the stones in front of him, face up. Twenty. Scowling, Gwen bared her eighteen and her opponent grinned as he gathered her cards and placed them on the ground next to him. Before she knew it, she had been assigned two new cards – a king of diamonds face up and a four of hearts face down. 

“King, queen and joker is worth ten. Aces are either one or eleven,” the other offered and revealed a seven of diamonds. 

When he was done, she moved to grab another card, gnawing on her lip once more. She found it hard not to ask him something. Anything. His name, for starters. But after how he had repelled Richard, she owed him his privacy. Still, that didn’t mean there were other ways of doing this. 

A two of clubs. 

“My name,” she said and took another card from the pile. When his gaze settled on hers, one bushy brow raised, she went on, “What is it?”

His expression gave nothing away when he replied, “Gwen.”

Three of spades.

She nodded again and watched as he began to collect his cards before flinging them onto the floor with a groan. Seven of diamonds, three of clubs, six of clubs and queen of hearts were hers for the taking. 

“How ‘bout mine?” he asked, the corner of his lips quirking upwards. Without looking away from her, he dealt two more cards to both of them, the challenge visible in his expression. He knew much more than he let on, it seemed.

“James.” Ace of spades face up. Grinning, she flipped the queen of clubs. Twenty-one. 

With a snort and a shake of his head, he handed his nine of spades and eight of hearts to the half-elf. “Do I even wanna know how you figured that out while you were busy spacing out the entire trip?” 

“These ears don’t look like this for nothing,” Gwen murmured, running a finger along the edge of her ear. 

Just as suddenly as the comradery had appeared, it slipped away, just like his smile. All traces of amusement gone, James leaned forward and whispered, “Why don’t we make this game a little more… interesting?”

Gwen dug her nails into her knees and bit her lip, her teeth easily slipping into the indents she had left there by now. Of course, nobody could ever just let her _be_. They all needed something from her. 

“What is it?” she asked. If she hadn’t been too busy taming her anger, she might have been surprised by the coldness in her voice. 

It didn’t seem to faze James, though. “Let’s make a deal. If I win, you add me to whatever plan you’ve got brewing with that guy of yours who came by the other day.”

“And if I win?” To tell the truth, she didn’t even know if Quinn was ‘brewing’ anything to begin with. Still, it couldn’t hurt for this man to think her useful. 

“I don’t make whatever you’re planning difficult. Simple.”

“Right. Simple.” Either way, she wouldn’t really lose. Even if there was going to be a plan, if this guy was that desperate to get out of here, then that meant he wouldn’t fuck it up to begin with.

Needless to say, by the time the guards found out James had stolen their pack of cards and confiscated it, Gwen was one potential companion richer.

~~~~

With wide eyes, Gwen took in the sight before her, mouth slack. She hadn’t thought he would have the nerve to show himself to her. Not like this. She hadn’t even expected that he’d have the time for it in the first place, being a royal prince and all that.

Yet here he stood, tall and proud with his golden armour, on the other side of her cell door. From all sides, inmates hung against the grates, pressing their faces against the iron as if that would help them see or hear better. 

Gwen, on the other hand, remained seated in her corner, arms cradling her knees to her chest as she stared at him. James sauntered closer towards Stennis, as if to block her from his sight. That only caused her to grit her teeth, and so she pushed herself up, although not as quickly as she’d have liked. The result of not eating enough, she supposed.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice raspy and less intimidating than she would have liked.

Stennis frowned as he took her in, his head moving up and down as he swept his eyes across her form. “Have they not been feeding you?”

“Oh, they’ve been feeding my aplenty.” Gwen stopped in front of James, just far away enough from the cell door to not reach out and wrap her fingers around Stennis’s throat, and crossed her arms over her chest, squared her shoulders. “What do you want?” 

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said.

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Before you sentence me to death?” 

The prince had the gall to look appalled, and Gwen heard James shift in his spot behind her. 

“Sentence you to death? Why would I do such a thing?”

“Oh, please,” Gwen snapped with a roll of her eyes. “What else are you going to do with me? Keep me here until I die? Is that you want you want? To turn me into a pet, a symbol?” She perked up and lifted a finger, gasping. “Oh! I know! Surely you’re waiting to sell me again?”

When Stennis sighed, it sounded like he was a thousand years old and had seen enough for at least four lifetimes. And perhaps he had, but Gwen couldn’t find it in her to care. “That… was a mistake, and I have to admit it wasn’t one of my best moments. I had never thought it would end up like… this.” He gestured rather vaguely with one of his gauntlets.

“You mean, you didn’t mean for me to end up treated like cattle, hunted, raped, beaten and broken, captured by elves and forced to live among them, only to eventually find myself back here in the city where your kind father murdered my mother when he actually wanted to kill me?” Her eyes pricked, but she squeezed her voice past her tightening throat and somehow managed to keep her tears in check. “And that he didn’t even have the courage to do it himself? So, it’s not the case that you felt exactly the same when you decided to make me somebody else’s problem? And now you’re not actually deciding to finish me off yourself after all? Is that it?”

“I understand it might look like that, but you could at least try to see this situation from our perspective,” Stennis stated, pressing his lips into a thin line.

“Right, apologies. I, the inconvenient bastard, shall try my best to see the entire disaster that has been my life from the perspective of the royal family that had no choice but to exile its last remaining distant relative in order to keep its reputation intact.” Fisting the fabric of her tunic and tugging it to the sides, Gwen curtsied. 

Stennis sighed once more. “Whatever the case, I am not here for whatever it is you think.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his armour moving noisily when he lifted his arm. “I have not yet decided what it is I will do with you. For now, the matter of my coronation is filling my schedule and is therefore currently my priority. 

“Right, of course. Your coronation. What was I thinking?” The half-elf smacked a hand against her forehead. “Of course your coronation is more important than the matter of my punishment for being alive.”

Behind her, James choked back a chuckle while the king to-be nodded. As if he were pleased that she had finally understood the situation. 

To add fuel to the fire, Gwen used the most pleasant voice she could possibly muster and asked, “Your coronation. When is it due?”

“Tomorrow.” 

Now it was Gwen’s turn to almost choke, and not because of a laugh. She could handle knowing her impending doom was moving closer with every passing moment. Having an exact date on when it would arrive, however, was a different matter. 

“It might take me a while to get back to you, though. There will be the matter of the summit at Loc Muinne to deal with afterwards, although I will not be going in person,” Stennis added. 

“What do you mean, summit at Loc Muinne?”

~~~~

“What do you mean, summit at Loc Muinne?”

Iorveth levelled Ivor with a steady gaze, his jaw set as the cogs in his mind worked overtime. “What I said. Once we are back in Vergen, when all this is over and done with, we might have to leave for the summit at Loc Muinne.”

“I’m trying to say that I don’t know what summit you are talking about.” The other elf lowered his brows, narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Iorveth, I… When did you stop telling me everything? I used to know every thought that crossed your mind. What happened?”

They stood in front of a glowing campfire, surrounded by other Aen Seidhe. Everyone was tense enough without their leader and his most loyal subordinate fighting, what with the upcoming battle, Saskia’s poisoning and, to top it all off, his actions concerning a certain inh’eid. Although none dared comment what he had done – barring those who approved, that is – he had to have lost both eyes to miss the looks he received.

“Ivor.” The commando leader inhaled and examined the grass between them, which was orange in the light of the fire. “I think it best if you were to retreat to Flotsam for a while. To make sure everything is in order at the camp.”

Ivor laughed, the sound hesitant when it left his throat. When Iorveth remained still, it died down just as soon as it had appeared. “You are serious?” 

“Very much so,” the other stated, nodding once.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed it again. Something flashed through his grey eyes, something Iorveth had never seen before, before he clenched his hands and straightened his back. 

“All right.” Ivor turned to the side, all his usual grace having left him as he moved jerkily. “You are right. I will depart at once.”

Iorveth watched him leave and tried his best to remember having heard him speak so coldly before. When he came to the conclusion that that, too, was a first, he asked himself how Ivor had grown so close to the inh’eid. Then again, how had _he_ grown so close to her? 

He shook his head and ran a gloved hand through his thin, greasy hair. When all this chaos was over with, the first thing Iorveth wanted to do was take a bath. The sight of her assaulted him then, naked and waiting for him, and he all but winced. That didn’t change the effect the image had on his body, and for the first time since the clammy heat had settled, Iorveth was glad for his many layers. 

Betray a woman and then fantasise about her. What had he sunken to?

No. This was all just part of the plan. If he gave up now, all would have been for naught. 

And so Iorveth exhaled through his nose and sought out his bedroll, knowing they had to leave at first light. 

In the meantime, Ivor packed his things, though that mostly consisted of slinging his bow and arrows over one shoulder and his bedroll over the other. 

“Do not worry about me,” he told his comrades before he left. “Concentrate on the battles that lie ahead. And keep an eye on the commander for me.”

They nodded and looked at each other. Wanting to ask something, but not daring to. Many of them had looked to him for guidance in these uncertain times, but he had not been able to offer them more than encouraging words. The crevice that had appeared in his relationship with Iorveth had not exactly helped, either. 

It would take him a day to reach the main road leading to and from Vergen. Perhaps longer, depending on whether or not Geralt had already lifted the curse that had caused the mist to appear around the town. From there, if he followed the main path, it would take him two more days on foot to get to Flotsam. 

He wouldn’t, however. 

The next evening, just as the world around him was growing dark and it would soon become time for him to set up camp, he arrived at the main road, finding it deserted and bathed in the deep red of the sunset. It was here that, instead of finding the path that led to Flotsam, he turned south and made his way towards Vengerberg.

He had an inh’eid to find after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you guessed, James is indeed based on Frank from Daredevil :D I changed his name from Frank to James though because I'm afraid I'll get sued if I use too many existing characters, haha.


	37. Bury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter. Wooh. Stuff happens. Too tired for extravagant chapter notes. Enjoyyyy.
> 
> Bury My Dead belongs to As Lions.

Meanwhile, almost all of Vengerberg had spent the day celebrating the coronation of their new king, Stennis the First. All except the dungeons, where the prisoners could only listen to the festivities outside. 

It was early that morning, when Ivor had yet to arrive at the road that connected Vergen to Vengerberg, that footsteps, fast and heavy, made their way towards Gwen’s cell. She had been trying to sleep, but the noise from outside distracted her and held her hostage. To both sides, the other captives muttered to each other, but stopped when the newcomer approached. 

The half-elf looked up just in time to see Quinn arrive. He looked over his shoulder and held up a bunch of keys, flicking through them until he found the one he needed. With a click, the door to her prison opened. Gwen, in a daze, could only stare at it, her mind not able to comprehend the situation.

Only when the rest of the inmates began to shout, and James dragged her off the ground, did she realise what was happening.

_I’m free._

Quinn stood in the doorway, hands on his hips as he blocked the exit and levelled James with one of his famous blank stares. Without averting his gaze, he asked, “He comin’ with us, Gwen?”

Only when Gwen nodded did he move to the side, allowing the two of them to slip by. The half-elf had a hard time concentrating, what with all the hollering that surrounded them. How long would it take until the guards noticed something was amiss? Where were the guards to begin with?

Quinn took off almost at once, offering nothing more than a, “Let’s get out of here before the guards come back,” over his shoulder. 

“Come back?” Gwen asked, already breathing heavily as she had to jog to keep up with the two large men whose steps equalled perhaps two of hers. “What did you do, Quinn?”

“Nothin’,” her friend said with a grin. “Let’s just say I slipped a little somethin’ in their drinks.”

For as far as Gwen could remember, Quinn had never hurt a fly, and so she didn’t even want to think about what he had done to the guards. Then again, it wasn’t as if she cared. She found out soon enough anyway when the sounds of men crying out desperately near the latrines, accompanied by the smell of a meal gone horribly wrong, greeted them. 

Quinn placed a finger to his lips to silence his companions, who had most likely done this more often than the amount of years he had lived. They slipped by and hurried on towards the exit, where the sunlight welcomed them. With a wince, Gwen squinted, her head throbbing like it might burst from the onslaught of brightness. 

“Hey, what are you doing?!” Gwen could not see, but she most certainly recognised Richard’s voice, and she bit back a curse. 

The others, on the other hand, let out a few colourful words. While the half-elf’s eyes adjusted to her surroundings, she heard James crack his knuckles and take a step towards the soldier. 

At the same moment, Quinn wrapped a hand around her arm and dragged her in the other direction. To James, he snapped, “Come.”

James grunted in protest, his footsteps following them slowly and hesitatingly.

“Wait!” Richard called out, which was enough for James to break out into a run.

Now that she could keep her eyes open again, Gwen tore her arm from Quinn’s grasp and shot one last look over her shoulder. Richard half-jogged after them with his hand on his sword, the surprise and the hurt visible on his face. She ignored the stab of pain it caused her and concentrated on keeping up with the big guys, who had already rounded the corner in front of them. 

They entered an alley that would eventually take them to one of the main roads, going by the amount of noise that came from the other end of it. The uneven cobblestones made running difficult, and Gwen almost slipped a few times. The fact that she hadn’t eaten enough in the past few weeks and that her legs were already trembling did not help in the least. 

Quinn led them along the walls, wooden and stone buildings alternating to create the narrow pathway through which they squeezed themselves. Gwen’s legs felt like nekkers were clinging to them, and the distance between herself and the men grew every time her feet hit the ground. 

Her right knee buckled, the other slamming against the ground, and the half-elf gasped before biting her lip. For a moment, her surroundings darkened as she swayed. Placing her hands to the cool stones beneath her, she counted as she inhaled and exhaled. One… Two… Three…

Two pairs of hands grasped her arms and the floor disappeared beneath her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that she was moving forward again. James and Quinn carried her as best as they could through the alley, all the while following Quinn’s muttered directions. Gwen had not the strength to protest, though she tried her best to aid them with her dangling feet.

Before she knew it, the walls surrounding them fell away, and instead they found themselves in a small plaza. With all the citizens attending the festivities of Stennis’s coronation, the square was deserted. Poles had been hammered into the ground with ropes spun between them, adorned with all types of clothing hung out to dry.

“Take her,” Quinn said as he let go of his friend in favour of working his way through the clothes, picking things off the lines here and there.

With a nod, James hefted the half-elf to a bench that stood at the edge of the court. Gwen tried to aid him by hobbling alongside him, though going by his speed and the relaxed state of his body, he didn’t really need it.

Once he had dropped her on the wooden surface of the bench, he made his way over to Quinn, who by now had a collection of garments slung over his shoulder. Gwen watched them move about while she concentrated on breathing. Her nails dug crescents into her hands, as if that could stop them from shaking. Why had she not eaten enough? Why had she not felt like eating? Why had she spent all that time sleeping? Stupid, stupid, stupid…!

“Can you change yourself?” Quinn appeared before her, holding up a grey shirt and dark breeches. Behind him, James busied himself with pulling off his own clothes with his back turned towards them.

“Yes,” Gwen stated and held out her hands.

When the weight of the package landed in her hold, Gwen toppled forward and would have fallen if Quinn hadn’t grabbed her by the shoulder. She winced when his fingers dug into the skin there. With a sigh, her friend took the clothes from her again and placed them beside her.

“Arms.” 

“What?” Gwen grimaced, all but baring her teeth.

“Put your arms up.” Quinn made an upwards sweeping gesture and watched her, waiting. 

Gwen wanted nothing more than to throw the pile of clothes into his face and kick him in the knee, but the thought itself was exhausting enough, and so instead she bent her head and lifted her arms. Quinn tugged her tunic off before pulling the new one over her. It was a little too large for her, but it was thin and cool and that was all that mattered. She felt cleaner already.

Before Quinn could attempt to help her with her trousers, she glared at him. Using her irritation as fuel, she snapped, “I can do this myself.”

The other half-elf raised a brow and took a step back with his hands raised. “All right, suit yourself. But be quick about it.” 

Once he had averted his gaze, Gwen kicked off her boots and wiggled her way out of her dirty breeches and into the new ones. These required the rope that Quinn had provided to even keep them over her hips, otherwise they threatened to pool around her ankles. She stuffed the ends of the pants into her boots as she pulled them back on. 

“All right,” Gwen said with a sigh once she had finished tying the rope around her waist. She flexed and relaxed the muscles in her legs, pleased to find they responded to her commands once more. “What now?”

James approached them with his old clothes in his arms. Only then did Gwen notice that his footsteps were surprisingly quiet for someone his size. “What d’we do with these?”

“We’ll dispose of them on our way out. We must leave the city as soon as possible, but most likely every soldier knows to look for us by now. Hopefully the coronation will keep them busy, though,” Quinn said. “There will be enough trouble for them to take care of even without us causing problems.”

Squeezing the balled-up pieces of clothing in her hands, Gwen asked, “Where will we be leaving the city?”

“The northern gate, I think. Most likely there will be less going on up there.”

“Can we…” She swallowed hard. “Can we see my old street?”

Her friend’s brows knit together. “You know that isn’t the best thing to do right now, don’t you?”

“It’s the last chance I’ll ever get,” the other responded with a shrug. “We don’t need to stay long. Just pass it by on our way up. I want to… I want to see what became of it.”

“Even if you won’t like what you’ll see?”

“Even so.”

The man ran a hand down his face, his skin scratching against the stubble. Then, after inhaling and exhaling deeply, he nodded. “Fine. But only if you can walk there yourself. Haven’t you eaten anything recently?”

Gwen’s eyes cut to James, who stared at her. Even though there were no emotions visible in his expression, no accusation, she couldn’t help but bite her lip and break eye contact again. She should’ve taken better care of herself. At this rate, she’d hold them all back. Quinn was probably throwing everything away for her, and she…

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” she said. “If I start dragging you down, just leave me. All right?”

Quinn scoffed and took the old garments from her. “You wish. I’ll carry your scrawny ass out of here, even if it’s the last thing I do. Now come, there’s no knowing for how long we’ll be safe.”

With a nod, the half-elf got up and followed the others, who made their way towards the well that stood in the centre of the square. They threw the remaining clothes into the gaping hole before Quinn led them towards the side opposite of where they had come from. 

“If we keep following these paths, we’ll skirt around the festivities on our way to the gate.” Looking at Gwen, the half-elf added, “We should come by the slums, too.”

“Lead the way,” she responded, pointing towards the alley beside which they now stood. 

And he did, with James closing the chain behind her. Their steps, although soft, sounded like there were at least six of them with how they echoed off the walls. Gwen found herself glancing over her shoulder more often than not.

“Just to be clear. What do we do if we’re found?” she whispered when James shot her a look of irritation. Even her soft voice sounded louder than it should have in the narrow space. When Quinn didn’t react, she wondered if he had heard her, and opened her mouth to repeat herself.

“Let’s just hope we’re not,” he said without turning back. “I’d rather not kill anyone.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know ‘bout you, but I don’t feel like dying for someone else’s morals,” James piped up. This time, when Gwen’s eyes met his, the question was clear in his gaze. When she didn’t respond, he added, “If you don’t, then I will.”

What had to be done, would have to be done, Quinn’s aversion to killing aside. In the end, though, a few dh’oine less in this world would never hurt anybody. 

The sounds of the citizens of Vengerberg celebrating was never far away. Wherever they went, the merry shouting and drinking of the peasants followed them. Here and there, a fight had broken out, and more than once they caught wind of soldiers patrolling the area. 

Even so, the trio managed to reach the slums unharmed and unnoticed, although Gwen felt her energy dwindling once more. Just a little further, she would tell herself. Just a little further, and then she could sleep for as long as she wanted. 

Quinn rounded the corner out onto the street, but as soon as he set foot on the pavement there, he flung himself back into the alleyway, all but flattening Gwen against the wall. She could feel his spiked heartrate as their chests connected and she barely even noticed the aching of her breasts as his ragged breathing filled her ears. She closed her eyes in the hopes of banishing the image of the dark room from her mind before it could appear. 

As suddenly as his weight had appeared on top of her, it disappeared too. James had placed his hand on the other’s shoulder, pulling him away from her and towards himself.

“Three guards at the beginning of the street. Of your street,” Quinn said, his gaze seeking hers. 

James muttered a curse under his breath and took a step towards the exit. Before he could, however, Quinn had grasped his arm.

“Just… just don’t kill them.” 

The dh’oine glared at him, then tore his limb free and stalked out of the alleyway. By the time Gwen had inched close enough to the corner to witness the confrontation, James stood surrounded by three unconscious soldiers. No blood adorned the sight, and one of them was already snoring. 

What caught her attention wasn’t that, but what Quinn had called ‘her’ street. Her mouth fell open when she saw that the small house that had always stood on the corner had been replaced by a tall, nondescript building. Everyone had called the woman who used to live there Granny, whether they were family or not. Somehow, she had always had a piece of bread for whoever asked for it. Claimed that she made it all herself and everyone had believed it, despite the fact that she hadn’t even had an oven. Gwen had never eaten better tasting bread in her life. 

Next to that the large family had lived, with parents, both sets of grandparents and at least five children occupying the house. By now, Gwen had forgotten the names of all of them and what they looked like, but she could remember having played with those kids. That house, too, was no more. In its stead stood a building that resembled the one that had taken over Granny’s space. 

The same went for where her home should have been. Nothing remained of her mother’s garden, of the old bench that had always seemed like it might fall apart with every untoward movement, of the tiny porch. The front door, which had borne the marks she herself had carved into it when she had been too small to walk, was no more. No longer could the curtains with the silly floral patterns be discerned through the windows. 

Gwen did not know what she had expected, what she had thought she might find. She had known that her house no longer existed, that it had been burned to the ground. That nobody had remained who could have rebuilt it.

She had known all that… Yet why was it still that tears spilled from her eyes when she laid eyes upon the reality of the situation?

A hand rested on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The stream of tears stopped and dried out just as the energy to _feel_ slipped away from her.

“Did she… Did she have a funeral?” 

“What remained of her body was gathered into an urn and given a proper burial. So many people from the slums were there. They almost didn’t fit in the graveyard.” Quinn cleared his throat and stammered as he sought the words he needed. “We… we also gave you one. In fact, you have a gravestone next to hers, although your grave is empty. For, uhm, obvious reasons.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” Gwen muttered as she lowered her head to wipe her face clean. 

Quinn inhaled sharply, but before he could say anything, James came up to them. “We really should get going.”

The sound of footsteps and clinking armour came from behind them, and the trio turned around just in time to watch a small unit of guards round the corner. 

“Halt!” one of the soldiers cried out just before Gwen burst into a run in the opposite direction, Quinn and James hot on her heels. 

“They’ll follow us,” James growled as he fell in step with both half-elves while staring over his shoulder. “I’ll get rid of ‘ehm.”

“No!” Quinn hissed. “You’ll kill them.”

“They’ll _catch_ us. They’ll throw us, and you, into that dungeon and you’ll most likely never get to see the sky ever again.”

The half-elf clenched his jaw and ground out, “Fine.”

James spun around, and Gwen looked back just in time to watch him fling himself at their pursuers. His fist had already connected to one of their cheeks before she realised that he didn’t even have a weapon of his own. How was his killing anybody something to worry about when there was no way he himself would be able to survive? 

Before her question could receive an answer, Quinn had dragged her away from the road and towards a narrow path that led between two of the new houses. Yells of pain could be heard from where the two of them had come, as well as metal clattering to the ground and skin slapping against skin. 

When Quinn continued to tug her along by her sleeve, Gwen asked, “Will we not wait?”

“He’ll know where to find us,” the other replied without looking back. 

When they neared the end of the path, he stopped walking and Gwen collided into him, her nose stinging when it hit his back. Tears pricked at her eyes again and she balled her hands into fists, fighting the urge to punch him. Only then did she see why he had stopped. “What…?”

In front of them, two women stared up at them with reddened cheeks. They still had their bodies pressed to each other, clothes ridden up to expose flesh that shone with sweat. Their shoulders heaved as they panted, although they tried their best to still them by breathing as shallowly as possible. Quinn cleared his throat and averted his gaze when he slid by them with Gwen’s shirt still in his grasp, forcing her to shuffle along with him. 

After that, the streets continued to be deserted, the noise of the celebrations fading in the distance before growing louder once more as they moved around the partying citizens and towards the northern gate. Here and there, a patrol would move by, and the half-elves would press themselves up against walls in the shadows or skirt around corners to remain out of sight. Only once did they have to fight, having stumbled upon two guards who had been taking a short break. Together, Quinn and Gwen had made quick work of them, although both survived upon Quinn’s insistence. 

“Why are you even helping me if you don’t want to kill anybody?” Gwen whispered as her companion peaked into the next street. 

“Is this really the best time?” the other replied before he stepped out.

As if he hadn’t spoken, she added, “As a matter of fact, why are you even risking your entire life here for me? For a stranger?”

“You’re no stranger.” As if the light burned him, Quinn scurried across the stones towards the dark alleyway on the other side of the road. 

“I meant James.” Gwen glanced over her shoulder again and sighed when she noted the man was still nowhere to be seen. “And in the end, you haven’t seen me in years. I might as well be a stranger to you.”

They passed a couple of dogs sniffing through a pile of garbage gathered by the side of the alley. The animals looked up when the two of them neared, but soon continued to forage for food. 

"In other words, not worth risking your life with the others…” Her voice trailed off as realisation dawned upon her, and she stared at Quinn’s back, her feet coming to a halt. He refused to stop, his fingers slipping past her skin until they let go of her arm. 

“There are no others.”

During the years of Gwen’s relationship with Elric, Quinn’s mother had become close friends with hers. Something she was grateful for, since it meant that her mother hadn’t been all alone. From the stories Gwen had heard from her mother, the woman had been plagued by various haunting memories. Although Gwen’s arrival in this world had been unplanned, she had still been wanted. Quinn, on the other hand, was the result of a dh’oine who hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself. On more than one occasion had his mother crawled to hers, gasping and crying about how much he looked like _him_. 

Even before he was born, Quinn’s mother had been married to his stepfather, with whom she had two other children, two daughters who Gwen had only seen a handful of times. His stepfather, on the other hand, had had to drag her out of trouble more often than not. In fact, in the twenty-something years she had known them, she had perhaps come to see him as a father figure of sorts. 

It was his bitterness towards humans that had helped her crawl out of the hole she had dug for herself after what had happened with Elric. He had always clashed with her mother, who had liked the dh’oine in a strange, motherly way. 

“Don’t worry, Gwen. It’ll blow over, and within no time you’ll be your old self again,” her mother had told her one day, a few years after she had lost her child. 

That had been the last time she had cried in front of her. 

When she met Quinn and his family thirty years later, it was like a door had opened for her.

“The dh’oine cannot be trusted,” his father had grumbled somewhere during their very first conversation. “Especially the men.”

Where her mother’s love had failed, the hatred of Quinn’s father took root and gave her life. It may not have been healthy, but at least she survived. In turn, Quinn himself had taken a liking to her mother. They had always joked that they had been born to the wrong parents. Gwen wondered how different their lives would be if it had been true.

But why couldn’t she recall his face? She had almost come to see him as a father for a short while, yet she couldn’t remember what he looked like. What his name was. She hadn’t really thought about any of them in so long, hadn’t had the time to indulge in these memories. They had always been alive, though, even if it was only at the back of her mind. To hear that they were gone, and she hadn’t even realised it…

“Come, Gwen,” Quinn said, holding a hand out to her. “We have to leave.”

Yet again blinking back tears, Gwen slipped her fingers between his and followed him. When they were out of here and somewhere safe, she would ask him all about what had happened. She’d mourn everyone properly then. 

When they finally reached the northern gate, with the din of the celebrations covering up the sound of their steps, the sight that greeted them made them freeze to the spot. 

Standing just before the wooden gates was James, covered in blood. The arm that had was wrapped around his neck forced him to straighten his back. Though James towered over him by quite a bit, Richard restrained the man with ease. A cool look was plastered on his face as he took in the sight of the two newcomers, his eyes half lidded. 

“Thought you’d never come,” he drawled, though his voice sounded tight, as if he spoke through gritted teeth. 

“Couldn’t possibly disappoint you, could we?” Quinn shot back.

“What happened to the rest of your squad?” Gwen asked. She kept her eyes trained on James, afraid of what she might find in Richard’s blue ones. 

“This guy took them all out singlehandedly.” Richard shifted slightly, lowering his arm around James’s neck for a heartbeat before lifting it again. “Though he didn’t kill anybody. Somehow.”

The half-elf beside her relaxed, his shoulders slumping as he let out a low breath. She wanted to kick him in the back of his knee for showing his emotions so freely in front of their enemy. 

Before she could finish the thought, however, James had thrown his head back, the loud crunch barely even audible with the music and the shouting in the background. Richard yelled and stumbled back, though before he could fall, James had grabbed him by the shoulder and flipped the soldier’s back to his chest, mimicking the pose he had used on him only moments ago.

“Ready to go?” he asked and nodded in the direction of the gate.

To both sides of the blocked path lay a soldier, though no blood accompanied their bodies. 

“We takin’ him with us?” Quinn tilted his head as he made his way towards the men. Gwen followed, all the while avoiding eye contact with Richard.

“He’ll only get more men and you don’t want anybody killed.” The other raised his shoulders before he dragged his captive towards the gate. “Open it.”

Both half-elves sighed as they began to push against the wood of the gate. James occasionally used his back to aid them, but mostly busied himself with keeping Richard in check and pressing a hand to his mouth. Once the gap was large enough for all of them to pass through in single file, they did just that, the forest that surrounded Vengerberg ready to greet them the moment they set foot outside. 

Before closing the gate again, Gwen cast one last look upon the city. The place where she had been born, where she had grown up. Where she had fallen in love for the first time, where she had had her heart broken for the first time. Where she had once been happy and naïve and peaceful. 

There was no place for her here anymore. The fact that her house no longer existed was proof of that. 

And so she pressed against the gate with all her might and listened to its groaning as it settled back into place before turning away from the city’s walls for the very last time.


	38. Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S ALREADY BEEN A MONTH SINCE I LAST UPDATED? Jaysus, full-time working is really bad for your sense of time (though I've never been so aware of the date in my entire life). Anyways, slowly but surely the plot is moving on... Thank you for sticking with me for so long, guys! You are amazing. 
> 
> This chapter's title comes from the song "Grim Ranger" by Lungs and Limber.

Quinn found out about the existence of her son around the period that happened once a year in which Gwen could be found sulking in her room. That year, however, had been worse than usual. In fact, with every cycle that had passed since the first, the less Gwen thought about it, and the more she could go on with her life. Until she met Quinn and his family. 

Her mother knocked on the door one morning. “Gwen, you’ve been in there for three days now. Open the door, will you? Please?” When she didn’t receive an answer, she sighed. “She used to be like this every year around this time. It’s gotten better, though. Or at least I thought it had.”

“Gwen, get your ass out here,” Quinn said, slamming his fist against the wood of her door. “D’you hear me?” He pulled at the knob, but found it locked. 

At first, silence. But then her mother said, “You have to help her somehow. She never lets me in anymore.”

“Leave it to me.” 

Feet shuffled away, towards the staircase. Footsteps descended and made their way into the kitchen downstairs. The sound of ticking came from the lock, then a click. Then, squeaking filled the room as the door opened. 

Gwen winced as she watched the light flood the space around her. Squinting, she pulled the blanket over her head and huddled up beneath it. Her voice cracked and was hoarse when she muttered, “Go away.”

“Nah.” Quinn stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He stood for a while, perhaps waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark, before he moved closer towards her. Soon after, the mattress dipped with his weight. “Not until you tell me what all this is about.”

“’s nothing.” 

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” When the half-elf remained still, the other shifted in his spot. “I’ve got all day, y’know.”

He yawned and pushed her closer to the wall beside her bed before lying down next to her. His breathing deepened as it always did when he was meditating. Or sleeping. Usually, she would comment on his supposed snoring. Today, however, she said nothing. 

“Dad’s been askin’ for you, y’know. Your mother actually sent for me, sayin’ she needed my help with somethin’. Should’ve known that somethin’ was you. Mom wanted me to wait ‘till she finished this pie she was bakin’, but what’s the point if you ain’t gonna eat it anyway?”

“I have a son.” At this point, she simply said it to get him to shut up. “Had. Have. Don’t know.”

“Is this the right moment to point out I’ve never seen a kid runnin’ around here?”

A snort forced its way past Gwen’s throat. “He’d be older than you are right now. Perhaps he’s got a family of his own. I could be a grandmother and I’d never know.”

“And why’s that?”

“He…” Gwen licked her lips, felt how dry her mouth was. “It’s a long story.”

“We got time, don’t we?”

She bit her cracked lip, but then she said, “It happened years ago, when you weren’t even born. How absurd that must sound.”

“It’s very hard indeed to imagine you havin’ a life before you met me, yes.”

“I fell in love, if that’s what you’d call it. With a human. He was great, at first. You know how it goes. We were going to have a child together. Going to be a family.”

“Your mother must’ve been happy, what with her fascination with humans.”

“She was. Still is. She… never really got it, I suppose. Why I feel this way. Sure, I lost a kid, but how could I go about hating an entire species for that?”

Quinn inhaled sharply, but kept his mouth shut.

“He took the boy and raised it with the knowledge that I had killed his mother. I saw him once and never again.” 

“You didn’t try to find him?”

“No. Couldn’t risk him getting to me again. I’m willing to lose the chance of reconciliation with my son if that means his father doesn’t get the chance to hurt me again, somehow.”

“I can see that,” Quinn stated in a dry tone. 

She should have snapped at him, should have kicked him in the side. She couldn’t bring herself to do either and instead stared at the cracks in the wall beside her, traced them. 

Her friend turned onto his side towards her. “Your mother. She said she thought this had gotten better. Whatever ‘this’ is. What was all that about?”

“Ever since I met you… your family… I’ve been… happy. Happier. As happy as I can be, at least. But I… I don’t deserve it. I lost my son. Was a worthless wife and an even worse mother. I don’t deserve any of this. I just don’t.” It felt like she was arguing with herself, the anger towards everything and everyone battling against her self-hatred. 

Fuck the world. Fuck Elric. Fuck her son. Fuck them all. She owed them nothing. Life wasn’t fair, so she should take whatever she could!

But she had failed them. Failed them all. Even her mother…

A hand landed on her shoulder and she gasped, shoulders tensing.

“That…” Quinn swallowed hard. “That has to be the most bullshit I’ve heard in my entire life.”

With a sniff, Gwen muttered, “As if that counts for anything.”

“Shush. You don’t get to say that. Dumb elves and their victim complexes.”

“What?!” The half-elf shot up and twisted around, fingers clawing at the blankets. Poised, ready to spring. When she met his steady gaze, she deflated and fell back onto the bed.

“Worthless this, worthless that. Is this…” He waved his hands around her. “Whatever this is, going to fix anythin’?” His gaze locked onto hers, but when she said nothing, he continued, “Is it goin’ to make this Elric person feel better? Is it gonna give your son a mother? Hm?”

“…no.”

“I say you’re doin’ this ‘cause you like it.” Gwen frowned and opened her mouth, but he went on, “You like wallowin’ in self-pity ‘cause it makes you feel good about yourself. Poor ol’ Gwen, with all that emotional baggage. Scarred for life. Sure, you will be, but what use does actually lettin’ it _mark_ you have?”

Gwen growled but only curled herself into a tight ball. She didn’t want to think about this right now. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? “Just go away.” 

A sigh escaped his lips. Not much later, his weight disappeared from the mattress and he took a few steps towards the door. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

He never did return, though. Didn’t have to. By the end of that day, the half-elf had crawled back out of her cave. They never spoke of what had happened ever again.

“What you thinkin’ about?”

Gwen shook her head and straightened her back while resting against the trunk of a tree. “Nothing. Just watching the fire.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. She had chosen a seat by this tree on the ground, maintaining a safe distance from the campfire while still feelings its prickling warmth spread its way across her legs. At least like this she could still keep an eye on it. 

Richard sat on the other side of the fire, his hands tied together and a piece of cloth stuffed in his mouth. He stared at her without pause – she hadn’t even seen him blink yet. Then again, she hadn’t exactly stared back to check. James lay beside him, picking at his nails with a knife that he had gotten who knew where, but by now they should have been as clean as if he’d just bathed. 

“Quinn.” 

The man sitting on a log to her right, closer to the campfire, hummed. The crackle of the flames all but drowned the sound out. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she would have missed it.

“What… what happened to the others? Your family?”

From the corner of her eyes, she noted that James paused his nail-picking for a moment, but he soon resumed his grooming. Richard didn’t react at all. Perhaps he was simply staring off into the distance and he had merely directed his gaze at her by chance.

“Do you really wanna know?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

The sigh that left his lips sounded like he had witnessed enough to fill a hundred elven lives and then some. Even in the darkness, Gwen noted how he seemed to shrink. The lines on his face stilled so that the only movement in his expression consisted of the dancing shadows that the flames cast across him. 

“I don’t suppose you know what happened before the war with Nilfgaard. The second one. I said we fled when the troops attacked Aldersberg, but by then only me, my mother and Neassa were left.” He narrowed his eyes at the campfire as he relived the memories. “The… the humans… They had started murderin’ non-humans. Nobody knew why or when exactly it begun. Somethin’ about the Squirrels working with the Nilfgaardians. We thought we were safe, though. These were the people I grew up with, y’know? I thought we were safe.” 

He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. Even from where she sat, she could see the corners of his lips trembling. “I fought my dad over it. Told him, no, we’re not goin’. Not for his stupid hatred of humans. But when they set the neighbour’s house on fire, he dragged us out the back door. By then it was too late, though.” 

Unfurling his hands again, he rested his underarms across his knees and bowed his head. The next time he spoke, it was in the smallest voice she had ever heard come from him. “They kicked the door down. The front door. Shoutin’ like they were on a hunt in the woods or somethin’. I couldn’t… Dad ran off and Emer went after him. I don’t know what I was thinkin’, but I took mom and Neassa away. Afraid they wouldn’t make it on their own.”

On the other side of the campfire, James had once more stopped picking his nails and had lowered his knife to the ground. Richard, on the other hand, had closed his eyes, but with how he had furrowed his brows, Gwen wondered whether he was remembering some memories of his own. The war had taken place not ten years ago. Even he had been old enough back then.

The half-elf herself hadn’t seen much of the strife with Nilfgaard. Though she had seen the aftermaths of more than a few of their battles, it took a few months before she actually came across someone who told her of the invasion. The first time around, the fight had almost been over by the time she realised what was going on. She hadn’t had as much luck the second time around, but it seemed that neither had Quinn. 

“I went back as soon as the fightin’ was over, though. Hoped they were still alive, somehow. And maybe they are. Maybe they managed to flee, y’know? Maybe they’re out there somewhere, roamin’ in the wilds like you did. Too scared to come back.” Quinn chuckled, but it sounded more like a sob than a laugh. “’s not like I’ll ever find out.”

Gwen almost didn’t want to ask the question, but she knew she had to. She didn’t want to assume. Plus, he had to keep this in for how long? “What… what do you mean, ‘I’? What happened to your mother and sister?” 

The other half-elf pushed himself off the ground and walked over to the pile of wood they had collected before setting up camp. He knelt down beside it and picked up various twigs and branches, one by one, before making his way back over to the fire. It burned with almost the same ferocity as it had done a while ago, but still Quinn laid more wood upon it as if it would go out any moment now. 

“Didn’t make it. Neassa got ambushed while fetchin’ water from a well nearby our hideout. Mom took her life not too soon after that.” 

“I’m… sorry to hear that.” Her voice sounded so soft, she wondered if he had even heard it. 

He shook his head as he sat down again. “Come, you must have some interestin’ war stories to tell, too. ‘s not fair to let me hog this conversation all for myself.”

“I, eh…” She bit her lip, hard and sudden, and the taste of copper filled her mouth. Trying her best not to think of the Squirrel who had forced himself upon her for refusing to fight for the Nilfgaardians – “If you’re not going to aid us with your blade, might as well do so with your mouth” – she said, “I managed to evade most of it. Wasn’t hard to do, all by myself in familiar forests. You haven’t truly lived until your back hurts from sleeping in trees.”

All eyes were on her then and she swallowed hard, feeling their heavy gazes scrutinise her. She cleared her throat with a cough and asked, “Say, perhaps I’m a bit late in asking, but what exactly is our plan here? What will we do next? And why did you bring him with us?”

James moved his gaze towards Richard and lifted his shoulders. “Probably would’ve come after us with more men if we let him go.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. But still, what do you plan to do from here on out? And you, Quinn?”

Quinn, whose eyes were still glazed over, snapped his head up at the sound of his name. “What?”

“What’re you going to do now?”

“Oh, ehm.” He scratched the back of his neck and chuckled. “Well, to be honest, I hadn’t really thought past this point. Didn’t really believe we’d make it at all, to tell the truth.”

The half-elf rested her forehead against her knees with a sigh. 

“How ‘bout you?” James pointed his knife in her direction. 

“I’m going back to Vergen,” Gwen said without looking up. She had wrapped her arms around her knees and squeezed her legs, nails biting into the skin there.

“What? Why?” came the question from two directions at once. Richard threw in a confused noise and tilted his head to the side for good measure.

“There’s no way I’m letting that asshole Iorveth off the hook like that,” she muttered. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. Perhaps stab him.” Her fingers twitched as the thought took root in her mind and melted with the sizzling anger that never died out there.

Quinn all but choked on his spit. “Iorveth? As in, the Squirrel? Why… why would you want to do such a thing?” 

“He was the commando leader in Flotsam. _He’s_ the one who sold me out.”

On the other side of the campfire, Richard tugged his hands apart. He pulled at his restraints and whined. When James ignored him, the noises he made grew louder until Gwen nodded with a sigh. Only then did the big man lean over the other and drag the cloth from his mouth. 

“That… That is suicide! Do you think that, just because of your relationship, he will go easy on you?!”

“Your relationship?” Quinn’s head swivelled back to her.

Three pairs of eyes settled on her once more and Gwen pressed her back closer to the tree behind her, hugged her knees closer to her chest. “I’m not actually going to _fight_ him.” _Or am I?_ “I just—”

“What do you mean, your relationship with Iorveth?” The other half-elf got up.

Gwen, too, pushed herself off the ground, her feet slipping twice before she could gain enough traction to stand up. She rested her fists against the bark of the tree, felt it sting as it dug into her knuckles, but she did not move. “What does it matter to you?!”

“Of course it matters if you’re that elf’s lo—”

“Don’t!” the woman yelled despite the tightness in her throat. She pointed a finger in his direction and took a step to the side. “Don’t you dare.”

When her friend moved towards, James, too, raised himself to his full height and said, “Leave her be.”

Though he was a little shorter than Quinn, the difference between his broad human shoulders and the other’s half-elven ones, no matter how large he was compared to other non-humans, was visible even in the growing darkness of the forest. The two men glared at each other, with Richard looking to and fro between the two of them. 

She could have slipped away in that moment. By the time anybody noticed, they would never find her again. Her knees trembled and her arms shook, as if fighting against her resistance. The tension in her body disappeared when, in the end, her shoulders slumped and she let out the breath she had been holding in. 

“I just… want to talk to him. To ask him some questions. That’s all.” When Quinn opened his mouth, the frown still on his face, she added, “He is… He is one of the few people who’ve betrayed me and still live. I want to… I _have_ to at least ask him…”

Why? 

_Why? Why? Why?_

The men cast their eyes downwards as if out of privacy for her tears, though she tried her best to simply ignore them. If she couldn’t hold them back, then at least she could pretend they weren’t there.

“All right.” Quinn nodded and looked up again. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t… Well… Even though you’re not a human… Let’s say I had to do a lot to become one of them.” That cursed weight threatened to trap her again, and the wind blowing against her wet cheeks made her think of his heavy breathing. She dragged up the image of the filthy human lying beneath her, blood staining his neck. 

_He’s dead. For fuck’s sake, he’s dead. He’ll never touch you or anybody else, ever again._

“And me?” Richard piped up. He had manged to get up on his knees, but even if he tried to run, he would never get far with James lurking behind him. “What will you do with me?”

“I don’t know. Ask James,” the half-elf snapped. The men blinked at her, almost like owls. “He wanted you to tag along.”

“Only be—”

Gwen waved at him, as if dismissing the words. “Yes, yes, because he would’ve chased us. But what’re we going to do _now_?”

“Leave him behind?” The large man shrugged and ignored the cries that erupted beside him. 

“What?! Just let me go! Even _if_ I wanted to go after you with the others, you’d be long gone by the time I get back here.”

“Unless you use horses,” Quinn muttered.

“Plus, I just told you where I plan to go,” Gwen added.

“Seems like you’re more for bringing him along than I am.” James crossed his arms and cocked his head, one eyebrow raised. 

Both half-elves hung their heads. Gwen bit her lip as she tried to think. There was no guarantee the elves would welcome her back. She didn’t even know whether she _wanted_ to be welcomed back. She had thought that she’d found a home, but they had cast her out. That, however, was not the point. 

Even if the elves welcomed her back, and even if they perhaps allowed Quinn to accompany her… They would never agree to James or Richard, two dh’oine, stepping into the camp. And maybe she could persuade them to allow James to at least leave, but Richard was a guard of Vengerberg. There was no way they would believe that he did not have non-human blood staining his hands. 

But she was right – if they let him go now… He knew where she was headed. He had the means to catch up with them, take them by surprise. The best option would be to drop him off at a nearby town or city. Yes… yes, that would have to do. 

“Fine. We’ll bring him with us, and we’ll leave you somewhere along the way, when we get closer to Vergen.” She raised her head to meet the others’ gazes. “Acceptable?”

James merely shrugged and Quinn ran a hand through his hair that looked grimy even from where she stood. Then he nodded and threw some more wood onto the dying fire before he sat back down with a thud.

“I s’pose it’ll have to do.”

Gwen, too, took up her seat by the tree once more and rested the back of her head against the trunk. 

“So,” she began, staring up at the few stars that shone between the thick greenery of the forest through half-lidded eyes, “who takes first watch?”


	39. Throne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, it's been more than whole month since I last updated! Let's just say that there was a lot of chaos here, with events at work, finishing my university career, going on holiday and falling in love with Rothfuss's book called The Name of the Wind. Anyways, I'm back, and with no more school to worry about, I'm hoping I'll be able to go back to more regular updates. For now, enjoy this chapter! :)
> 
> Chapter title is a song by Bring Me The Horizon.

Gwen did not know whether she wanted to cry or laugh. Tears had welled up in her eyes, but at the same time she felt laughter bubbling up inside of her as she took in the scene before her. She didn’t have the time to think about why, or even how, she was feeling two seemingly contracting things at the same time. 

With his hands held in the air, James stood still as the human in front of him pointed a sword at him. He may as well have stopped breathing. Somewhere to the side, just out of her sight, Quinn half-crouched and watched over their hostage. Why was he even here to begin with? Was he not supposed to stay away, in case something happened? 

In case something like this happened.

The sword clattered as the stout woman held it in front of her, staring at the man she aimed it at with wide eyes that darted to and fro. Even from where Gwen stood, she could hear the chattering of her teeth behind her lips, pressed into a thin line. A bead of sweat slipped down the side of her face, paving a way through the dust and dirt that covered the woman’s body. 

“P-please leave,” she said in the smallest voice Gwen had ever heard. 

At the sound of the woman’s – though she looked more like a girl – voice, the half-elf’s throat tightened, all possible mirth seeping away as though dragged away by the wind that was ever-present. It reminded her of how she used to be, although she had been less helpless back then. At least, she thought so.

She began to lower her arms, her will to attack this person – dh’oine or no – nowhere to be seen any longer. Just then, James clapped his hands together, capturing the blade between his palms, and wrapped his fingers around it. Thin lines of blood trickled down his skin, and Gwen could not look away as the droplets fell to the ground. The human’s mouth dropped open, but other than that she did not react when he tore it out of her grasp.

James had barely turned the sword around to aim at her instead when Quinn leapt towards them with a yell. Once he skidded to a halt between James and the girl with his arms raised, Gwen saw the rage on his face, which looked like it had darkened with the emotion. The squeak that came from the girl only seemed to fuel his anger and his fingers twitched. 

Neither of them said a word as they glowered at each other. The wind played with Gwen’s hair, rustled through the leaves of the trees surrounding them. The birds and crickets had quieted, as if holding their breath while watching the confrontation from a safe distance. 

“What’re you doing?” Quinn ground out, his shoulders heaving. The human behind him took a step back, but did not turn around just yet.

“Following the plan.” Even when facing Quinn, James did not lower the sword. “Unlike others.”

Keeping her eyes on the two of them, Gwen circled around them towards Richard. Bound and once more gagged, he stood where Quinn had left him, frozen to the spot. It did not even look like he was breathing.

“Murderin’ innocents was not part of the plan.” The tall half-elf stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the human and stopping just shy of the tip of the blade. When James did not budge, his face as impassive as ever, Gwen’s feet took her away from Richard and closer to the others.

A glance from her and James finally lowered the sword and moved back. This time it was Quinn who stood his ground. 

“Stop it!” she snapped at him, placing her hands on her hips before looking over her shoulder at James. “Both of you.”

Quinn pressed his lips into a thin line. “But—”

“No. We’re leaving.”

Gwen did not wait to see if they followed her as she went back to Richard, whose restraints she grabbed to drag him back into the forest, leaving a terrified woman alone by her house. It did not take long before a pair of footsteps appeared behind her, followed a slower, lighter one. 

The group was silent as they walked, the only sounds being their boots moving through the grass and that wind from before. Richard breathed heavily through his nose and the ropes around his wrists scratched against the creases in her fingers as she pulled the soldier along. 

Just like their surroundings, Gwen felt eerily still. Especially after the powerful emotions that filled her up mere moments ago, the quiet inside of her unsettled her. How could she be so calm after that shit show? Even her irritation at the two men, who seemed more like two boys in that moment, dragging their feet and sulking as they followed their mother, had ebbed away. 

It was because of this that when someone behind her stopped walking, she could turn around and watch in silence as Quinn roared, “What the fuck was all that about?!”

James came to a halt and glanced over his shoulder almost dismissively. “Was following the plan. Finding a proper weapon.”

“By robbin’ a young woman of her only means of defence?!” Quinn yelled and threw his arms in the air. 

“Fine.” Turning around fully, the other man took a step back towards where they had come from. “Then I will give her the sword back.”

Quinn moved to the side, in front of the broader man. “No! Don’t! Just leave her alone! You’ve done enough already!”

“You’re the one who went again the plan, if I remember correctly.” James’s mask began to slip, his shoulders trembling and his hands clenching and unclenching and clenching again. “This wouldn’t have happened had you listened to us.”

“If I had listened to you, then you would have robbed her of her life as well!”

“If that had been the case, then so be it. Or would you rather we all perish, if only to spare a single life?”

The half-elf bristled and his shoulders heaved again as he ground his teeth together, the movement visible even to Gwen, who watched the conflict from behind James. Once in a while he would interrupt his jaw-clenching by opening his mouth, only to close it again without saying anything. Even so, Gwen could all but see the cogs in his mind turning, trying to come up with a retort.

When he remained silent, James let out a snort and spun around. Almost crashing into Gwen, he continued his way towards what little they had managed to collect during their time on the road. As he passed her, he released her of the burden called Richard, tugging the poor man along with him and ignoring the muffled protests that came from the prisoner.

As if approaching a rabbit while on the hunt, Gwen sauntered over to her friend, who trembled on the spot. By now it seemed like he had begun to chew on his tongue, his eyes vacant as they stared ahead of him. He did not react when she came to a halt in front of him, tilting her head with a raised brow.

“Are you all right?” She placed a hand on his shoulder and jumped back when he jerked away from her, almost hitting her with his flailing arms. 

He toppled over and hit the ground with a thud, limbs sprawled out around him. Though he gave no sign of pain, he did not stir either.

“Quinn…?” Frowning, Gwen leant over him and found him gazing right back at her this time.

With a sigh, he focussed on something moving behind – above – her. The half-elf glanced in the same direction and caught sight of a pair of birds flying in the sky, flitting between the branches and the leaves of the trees. Almost like a dance, they wound themselves around each other, diving down and coming back up with graceful curves.

A sigh snapped her attention back into focus. Quinn rubbed a hand across his face and he let out another breath. 

“It’s just not fair, y’know?” he asked without taking his hand away from his head, hiding his eyes from her. 

Gwen hummed. “Yeah, I know.”

“I’m tryin’ so hard to fix things. To make up for everythin’.” He inhaled before he swallowed thickly. “For… For what I did.”

“…what do you mean? For what you did?” The half-elf’s frown deepened as she lowered herself to the ground beside her friend. From the start, she should have known something else was going on. Even for Quinn, his reaction to the situation had been rather extreme. Not that she wasn’t grateful for it, since she hadn’t wanted to hurt the woman either. Just…

“I… I… I…” He couldn’t get past that first word and his respiration quickened until his breaths came out in puffs. 

“Hey,” Gwen murmured as she placed a hand to his arm, which tensed under her touch. “It’s all right.”

Swatting her away, he yelled, “No it isn’t, Gwen! Not at all!”

She watched him, took in his eyes that darted around and avoided hers, and his flaring nostrils. How often had she sported that look when others confronted her about her past? Feared what they would think, hated the helplessness? Hated herself so much that her fingers twitched, begging for a blade to dig into herself?

Until this moment, she had never stood on this side – the other side – and had never witnessed another break down like this. Think. Think! What had she wanted the most during when these things happened?

_"I know what you're doing. And I know it won't work," Iorveth said, his fingers wrapped around her arms._

_"What? That I'm doing what exactly? There's nothing wrong with me, you and all the others, you are the ones acting differently!" Gwen exclaimed as she waved both her arms and his around._

_The commander gave her a sharp look._

_"Gwen," he started, her preferred name rolling off his tongue, tinged with irritation. "That cachwr raped you and denying it won't help any of us."_

_"Shut up!" she yelled and she ripped herself free so that she could turn her back to him, hugging herself as she stared at nothing._

_He was lying. They were all lying. These stupid elves only wanted to see her hurt, they would do anything to drag her down. She couldn't remember anything like that happening at all! Or could she?_

_If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could hear him breathing in her ear again, could smell the stench of him surrounding her, could feel him inside of her. She tightened her grip on her sides and remembered how his nails had dug into her skin there, still sore from the abuse._

_And in that moment, the half-elf realised that she was all alone in this world and that that would always remain so. She had no one who would help her; at least back then she had had her mother to reassure her and pull her through._

_"It wasn't the first time, and it might not be the last," she finally whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "This world is not a place for half-breeds like me. I thought I had learned that a long time ago, but it seems that I had to be reminded."_

_Strong hands once more grabbed her arm and spun her around so that she was facing Iorveth once more. The anger in his bright green eye surprised her, and she found herself wondering how he had lost the other one._

_"You stupid bitch," Iorveth spat at her, "this is no way to get over something like that."_

_"And how would _you_ know that?" Gwen threw back at him, venom lacing her words. "Have you ever been at the mercy of a man who would not take no for an answer? Who would force himself on you and in you, in more ways than one? Do you--"_

_The sound of leather against skin filled the air, and all of a sudden it seemed as if the whole world held its breath, awaiting the next move._

_Gwen lifted a trembling hand to press against her cheek, which must have become red and swollen already. Both her eyes and mouth were wide open, and she knew not how to react._

_"No, I do not know any of this," Iorveth replied in an almost cool manner, "but I do know that this is not the way to recover. You are not the only one who has suffered such things."_

_He reached out and turned her head to look at him again. Though his demeanour was cold, the anger in his eye had turned into fury. Gwen wanted to pull away from him, to scream at him and to kick at him, but his gaze made her feel so small that she dared not move from her spot._

_"I won't apologise," he went on when she remained silent. "I did not become the leader of this unit without knowing what people needed and when they needed it. You belong to me just as much as any elf here, and while you are a part of us you are my responsibility." Letting go of her, he got to his feet and retrieved his sword, reattaching it to his belt. "I have failed you once already, and now I am to make sure you recover, whatever the cost. Understood?"_

_When he stood in front of her again, he looked down at her, holding out a hand to her. The fire in his eye had died out, and instead he held an inquisitive look. She realised he wanted an answer from her, and so she nodded mutely._

_She had planned on making that her only reaction, but she couldn't help the tears that filled her eyes as she placed her hand in his and let him help her up. He investigated a suddenly very interesting patch of grass somewhere to the side while she wiped the back of her hand across her face._

She held onto the feelings that flooded her at the memory. Beside the bitterness aimed at the man himself, there was loneliness and despair. Sadness and rage. A hint of emptiness. And then there was blooming pain on her cheek, followed by a warmth that spread throughout her, starting at her centre. A feeling she had come to associate with home.

No matter his ulterior motives, in that moment, Iorveth had helped her. Had offered a hand, both literally and figuratively, and given her a chance of a new beginning. Though she didn’t plan on slapping Quinn, she wished to offer him the same sensation. Except she wouldn’t betray him in the end.

“Then tell me,” she said in the calmest voice she could muster. She lifted her hand again and, after hesitating shortly, placed it on top of those self-loathing fingers of his, stilling their trembling. How had she not noticed the scabs and scars that covered his skin until then?

That, at least, seemed to gain his attention, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze while blinking the tears away. “You don’t understand, Gwen. I… I’ve _killed_. Humans. In… the war. But still.”

The half-elf stiffened and tried her best to keep her expression blank. Quinn, who had always admonished her for her hostility towards humans. Quinn, who would always feed the stray dogs when the others ran after them with sticks. Quinn, who she had always seen as her little brother, whom she had to shelter from the world. Who had never hurt anybody.

Somehow it seemed naïve for this to hit her so hard. Rather, she shouldn’t have expected him to stay the way he had always been. His physique belied a great power, and he could easily take on more than a few enemies at once. Gwen had experienced his strength first-hand, after all. But war was a cruel mistress who forced people to do deeds they would later regret. Indeed, she shouldn’t have expected him to remain unsullied by its taint. 

But Quinn didn’t need to know that, and so she forced herself to relax again. “What happened?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to ask.

“I… Honestly, I can’t even remember.” He once more covered his face with his free hand, his shoulders tensing as he tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape. “I just… see their eyes, y’know? Starin’ at me. Gods, that sounds so… so…”

“Relatable?” she offered.

“Cliché. How many times have you heard or read of it?” he asked with a shake of his head.

She thought back to Loredo’s corpse beneath her, his blood on her face and blade. The satisfaction that filled her at the image grew weaker every time the sun set, but it remained nevertheless. Just because she didn’t have a heart didn’t mean Quinn had to be the same, though. “Only because there’s a truth to it.”

“It’s pathetic, that’s what,” he spat. “I did it to protect myself and the others. It was always in defence.” When he looked up again, the tears had begun to trickle down his cheeks. “Then why… why do I still feel so… _guilty_?”

“You idiot,” Gwen muttered and shuffled closer to him so she could wrap an arm around his head and press his face against her stomach. Stroking his hair, she tried not to wonder where this motherly streak had come from and said, “That’s because you’re a good person.”

“How…” He coughed and sniffed. “How can a killer be a good person?”

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him away from her and forced him to look at her. “You just said so yourself, did you not? You did it to protect yourself and your family. You reacted to the actions of others. If you hadn’t, then you would be dead, too. What kind of world would we live in if the person who was forced to defend himself was considered a bad person?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m pretty sure I just did.”

Silence and a frown came from her friend. Then, “Why is the world such a cruel place for people like us?”

“Oh, Quinn…” She wanted to tell him that he was nothing like her, that they belonged to other worlds, but her mouth refused to work as realisation dawned upon her. For the duration of a heartbeat, although it felt more like an entire season, the world around her stilled. 

Someone like Quinn, who did not seek confrontation and instead tried to run away from it, who only raised a sword in order to defend himself and those close to him, was nothing like her. Someone who fought and yelled and flailed because she knew not else what to do. Because that _was_ all she could do.

Maybe, in a world like this, she of all people deserved what she got. After all, it could not be a coincidence that she came upon conflict after conflict, could it? She sought it out. She attracted it. She never tried to better herself afterwards. Not like Quinn.

Maybe… Maybe Iorveth had known all along.

No.

The heat inside of her, dampened by the previous events, gushed forth once more. It hit her with such force that it made her limbs tremble and her blood rush in her ears. For a short while, her surroundings turned a crimson that reminded her of blood. 

If anything, Iorveth did not have the right. He of all people knew what it was like. His whole life had been one big fight, after all, when he could just as easily have crawled back from where he came from. But he didn’t and he never would.

No. If anything, he was the one who had to pay.

Everything fell back into focus when footsteps sounded behind her, and Gwen looked over her shoulder to find James standing there with his hands on his hips. 

“You guys coming or what?” he asked, ignoring the sorry sight the two of them must have offered him.

Quinn lowered his head and pushed himself up before dusting himself off as if nothing had happened. As if his cheeks weren’t red and wet, his eyes not puffy. He offered Gwen a hand, who stared at it while chewing her lip. Then, slowly, she accepted it, and he hoisted her up like she weighed nothing. 

When she stood on her own two feet, her vision darkened and for a moment she could not feel her body. Her stomach dropped as she sensed her fall, and she reached out for Quinn, who should have been standing in front of her.

“Woah!” 

A pair of hands grabbed onto her shoulders, halting her descent and jostling her so that her teeth clacked together. The taste of copper filled her mouth, but that was the least of her concern then. 

“Are you okay?”

Opening her eyes, she noted that the only reason she still stood upright was because Quinn held her. James had frozen mid-step behind him, his arms reaching out towards her. Both frowned at her as if she might melt right before them. 

“Y-yes.” She nodded slowly, afraid any sudden movements might make the world spin again. When she did not faint, she pulled herself from Quinn, although the man seemed reluctant to let her go. “I… I just need to eat something.”

With his lips pressed into a thin line, her friend released her and moved to the side so she could pass. As she walked by him on unsteady legs, James stood with his arms still in the air, ready to catch her at the first sign of distress. That sign never appeared, and they soon followed her back towards Richard, who sat on the ground beside their collection of items with a lowered head. 

“If we’re so hard-pressed for weapons, I can always make us some bows,” Gwen stated and turned towards the men behind her, her voice sounding a lot stronger than she felt. “That sword will do us no good when hunting, which I suppose is more important than our being able to defend ourselves right now. No use protecting ourselves when we’re starving.”

“Might be a good idea,” James replied, coming to a halt in front of the half-elf.

The other man hung back a bit. “How long d’you think it’ll take you to make one?”

With a shrug, Gwen said, “A couple hours, if I can find the right wood.”

“Better hurry up with that, then,” the human said, his eyes on the sky. “Need something to eat soon.”

Though Gwen wasn’t sure whether he was talking about her specifically or all of them, she nodded and began to explain what kind of wood she would need to create proper bows. With the two men listening attentively and setting out soon after, it did not take long for both of them to have procured more than enough wood for both a couple of bows and a campfire. For once, Gwen hung back willingly, all the while ignoring the slight tremble in her limbs. When the sky began to darken, the group of misfits sat around a fire, enjoying their stew in silence.

Meanwhile, in a dwarven city to the north, an elf jogged through town, the beads of sweat that covered his forehead reflecting the light of the setting sun. Breathing heavily, he made his way towards the slums, where an elf with a scarred face leaned against a stone wall, his arms crossed and his gaze on the sky above him. 

“Iorveth!” the elf managed in between pants. He stopped in front of the commander and rested his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. “News… from… Flotsam…”

“What is it?” the unit leader asked and his eye snapped to those of his subordinate as he broadened his shoulders and straightened his back, as if bracing himself.

“Ivor… Ivor never… he never arrived…” 

Iorveth groaned and ran a hand down his face. He remained silent for a short while, ignoring the expectant look he received from the elf in front of him. Finally, the commander sighed and his shoulders sagged.

“The vatt’ghern and I are departing for Loc Muinne tomorrow, so there is naught we can do right now. For now, leave him be. I will take care of it when I get back.”

With a nod and an awkward salute, the elf turned and hurried away. Iorveth moved his gaze back to the clouds floating by in the sky that grew darker with every passing moment. 

“Ivor… Beth wyt ti'n gwneud?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ivor… Beth wyt ti'n gwneud?” is Welsh for “Ivor… What are you doing?”


	40. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooot! Chapter 40! We've come a long way, haven't we? I apologies that I may not always have been as present as I would have liked, and I appreciate all the time and energy all of you have put into the story. 
> 
> I've been thinking about this for a while though, and I think I would like it if anybody who wants to do so, adds me on social media to make it easier to stay in contact. So for those interested: these days I can be found on Twitter, Instagram and Tumblr through the username Tenshikyo. None of these have much to do with my writing just yet, but if I find that there's enough demand, I might focus more on that as well. For now I'm not expecting anything, of course :3
> 
> Most importantly, however, please enjoy this chapter! Chapter 40!!! :D
> 
> This chapter's title, "History", was extrapolated from the song "An Ocean Away" by the amazing bang called White Moth Black Butterfly. Give ehm a listen!

Bare feet slapped against the cobblestones that made up the paths leading in between buildings that looked like they might crumble with even the faintest blow of the window. It hadn’t rained in days, the mud that filled the cracks between the stones dusting the road instead, sticking to the bottom of her soles. It wormed its way between her toes, but she had long since gotten used to the feeling it created. 

The air was arid and warm and it almost hurt to breathe. With not a breeze to be felt, the sweat trickling down her skin had nowhere to go but down and into her clothes, which clung to her body in all the wrong places. The heat had risen to her cheeks, colouring them a deep red. Combined with the strands of her hair that clung to her face, she must have made quite the sight.

Not that it mattered, though. With this weather, in the middle of summer, everybody but the nobles with their servants and their fans looked at least mildly dishevelled. Especially in the marketplace, where people crowded together and jumped and ran and shouted as they tried to buy or examine the wares on display. If one didn’t leave the market square without at least a little of someone else’s bodily fluids, one hadn’t been shopping properly. 

With a sigh, she hoisted the basket of wares higher in her arms. Chewing her lower lip, she investigated its content in an attempt to keep her mind occupied as she made her way through the sweltering heat. A bag of wheat, three bottles of milk, some red apples, a couple of herrings, two loaves of bread and a stick of butter. As far as she knew, they had not needed any of this with the urgency that her mother had ushered her out of the door earlier that morning. 

“Here,” her mother had said, pressing a heavy purse into her daughter’s hand and listing all that she had needed. Her eyes had shone slightly, but she had claimed she was feeling a little feverish. That was why she had asked her daughter to go to the marketplace in her stead in the first place.

“Yes, yes,” she had muttered and tucked the purse away in her tunic. “Now you go lie down, all right? Your face is all clammy.”

Her mother had wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Even that early in the day, the warmth of her mother’s body had been uncomfortable. She had suffered through the hug for a while longer before wriggling away.

“I’m only going to the marketplace, mother. You’re not going to miss me, are you?” she had joked. 

Before she could step away from the house, however, her mother’s arms had been on her once more, this time simply holding her still. 

“Promise me one thing.”

Frowning, she had tilted her head to the side. “What?”

“No matter what happens…”

“Really? Now, of all times?! Are you kidding me?” She had flung her head back and groaned loudly.

“Just follow your destiny, child,” her mother had continued without tearing her insistent gaze away.

“You do realise I’m only going to the market, don’t you?” she had asked, but her mother had not relented. She tore herself free and yelled, “Fine! I promise to follow my destiny or whatever.” 

Before her mother had been able to say anything, she had sprinted down the street. When she had thrown a grin over her shoulder to her mother, the smile she got in return had seemed strangely sad. 

As she neared the street that would lead her home, she heard the clamour of people yelling and shouting. Hasty footsteps underlined the noise. Accompanying it all was the smell of wood burning. 

Dread filled her with a strange coldness that chased the heat from her and she quickened her pace when the sight of smoke above her street greeted her. When the crackling of fire reached her ears, she broke out into a run, trying her best not to lose anything from her basket as she turned the corner to her home.

When she did, however, the basket fell to the ground. A bottle of milk shattered against the ground, the noise of the crash sounding as if she had covered her ears with her hands. The contents of the bottle spilled over her foot just as she set it down on top of a shard, though even the bite of glass was dulled by the sight of half the street on fire. 

Where her house had stood only a short while ago, the flames had grown the most. People ran up and down the road with buckets of water from a nearby well in a vain attempt to put out the fire. They screamed names and ran into houses despite the smoke. Some of them came out empty-handed, others carrying crying children or stumbling elders. A handful never returned at all. 

Aside from them, a group stood in front of her home, shaking their fists and yelling at the guards blocking the path to the house.

“Blodeuwedd is still in there!” someone screamed.

“How could you do this to us?!” another wailed. 

“We must save her!” 

The soldiers only yelled back at them. “Where is her daughter?!” 

“Where is Gwenfrewi?!”

At the sound of her name, Gwen blinked and tried to shake the numbness from her limbs. She had to leave. Now. 

But her mother. Perhaps she could still save her?

No. It was already too late. Even if it wasn’t, there was no way she could pass the crowd and the guards and save her.

But she had to try…

It was try and die, or run and survive. 

She had to choose.

Her wounded foot left bloody prints behind that led out of the city. 

Inhaling sharply, Gwen opened her eyes only to be greeted by the night sky and the leaves of the tall trees, black but for the ember reflections of what remained of their campfire. The air felt cool against her skin, offering refuse from the arid summer heat, even if just for a short while. 

The half-elf sat up, rubbed her eyes and flexed her toes, noting the lack of pain in the sole of her right foot, though instead it was replaced by a pressure that appeared inside of her chest and forced its way up. 

She had always dreamt of what might have happened had she gone back into the house. Had punished herself by doing just that and failing anyway. Never had she dreamt of what had actually happened that day, though it had taken her many years before her self-herself had abated, if only a little. 

That also meant she had managed to forget it. Or at least bury it somewhere deep inside of her, untouched. Anxiety coursed through her body and made her jitter, her fingers digging into the bedroll beneath her. It felt like her blood was boiling, pressing against the confines of her veins, and there was only one way to rid herself of the sensation.

“Bad dream?” Quinn’s voice came from the other side of the campfire, snapping her out of her stupor. 

In the darkness, she hadn’t spotted him yet, and her eyes snapped to him. With no moon to shine light down upon them, he was nothing more than a shadow with a vague orange face in the clearing.

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, still half-asleep, but Quinn didn’t press on. Instead, he took out a stick with which he poked the glowing coals of the campfire. A spark or two sprang up at the contact, but nothing else happened. 

A snore to her right alerted her of another presence, but when she looked she saw Richard lying against a tree, the back of his head against the bark with his mouth wide open. Even in that uncomfortable pose, he seemed to be sleeping soundly. James lay not far from him, flat on his back and the stolen sword by his hand. Gwen wondered how long it would take before somebody woke him up and found themselves cut in half by accident. 

“I…” She licked her chapped lips, realising how thirsty she was. “I dreamed of the day my mother died.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Quinn said. 

For the first time, Gwen heard someone offer those simple words to her not with pity, but with understanding. Especially now that she knew he had gone through something similar.

“’s all right,” she murmured and examined the dying campfire. Even though she had been nowhere near the fire that day, the sight of it had scared her enough to make her generally apprehensive of it. Simply the knowledge that it had killed her mother was enough for her to steer clear of it as much as possible.

She continued to stare at the glowing embers through half-lidded eyes. Just as her mind had cleared itself of all thoughts, however, Quinn spoke.

“What happened between you and… and Iorveth?”

The pressure came rushing back in a wave that crashed on top of her. Gwen wanted to scream and cry, wanted to tear her own skin from her limbs, wanted to throw herself onto the campfire in the hopes of turning to ash and disappearing from this world, finally rid of all these emotions.

She did none of these things and merely shook her head. “Why do you need to know?”

“Because,” Quinn started after a moment of hesitation, shrugging as he did so, “I’m your friend. I want to know what you’ve been through. What happened to you.”

“I… It’s none of your business.” 

He held out his hands to her, palms facing upwards and fingers spread apart. “It is if you’re going to take me to him.”

“Well then maybe I shouldn’t,” Gwen snapped through gritted teeth. 

James and Richard continued to breathe heavily as they slept. The guard let out a low moan and moved his head from side to side. A small bug crawled onto his hand and he slapped it away, even while unconscious. 

“You don’t have to,” the other half-elf murmured. “It doesn’t matter, really.”

Her mind took that moment to remind her that, technically, he was in this predicament, with nowhere else to go, because of her. He easily could have reminded her of this fact, used her guilt against her to get what he wanted. But he didn’t. She knew he never would. 

Slumping forward, her hair covered her face as she stared at the ground she dug her toes in. “The… The short version is that… I fell in love with him and he betrayed me.”

“And… the long version?” 

“That I”-she sucked in a breath-“hated him, and the others, so very much because they were elves. And they hated me just as much, because I was an inh’eid. But that we grew closer eventually. I sacrificed myself for them, became one of them. I was stupid enough to fall in love with him, and was even stupider to think he loved me too.” She shook her head and laughed once. “Then he sold me to Stennis in exchange for his reputation. And now I’m going to…”

Going to what? Find him and then what? Talk to him? Slap him? 

Kill him? 

…forgive him?

Unbidden, the memory of his arms around her forced its way into her mind, warming her and easing the pressure inside of her. She felt his chin move against her temple as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, sensed the movements of the muscles of his back as he moved in and out of her.

She closed her eyes and pushed the images away. He was the same as Elric. She never forgave Elric, so why should she forgive him? 

“Going to…?” Quinn prompted gently.

“I don’t know yet,” she whispered. Without waiting for her friend’s response, she got up as best as she could with her trembling limbs. “I’ll take the next watch. You can go and sleep.”

The half-elf stared at her for a moment. His mouth hung open and the confusion was easy to read on his face. He decided against asking whatever was on his mind, however, and nodded instead.

When he had settled down on his makeshift bed, one arm thrown over his face with the other propped beneath his head, Gwen moved towards the edge of the clearing.

“Just need to make water first…” she muttered and stepped into the circle of darkness that the forest cast upon her surroundings, in search of a thick tree trunk not too close nor too far away from the camp. 

Once she had settled against the perfect tree with her legs crossed, she pulled out the knife she had hidden beneath her tunic, just in case. The tension from before had returned with a vengeance, making her tense and itch. Her blood, trapped in her limbs, fought for its freedom. She gave it what it wanted by rolling the sleeves of her shirt up and running the blade along one of the silver lines that adorned her wrist. Soon enough it turned red, the liquid warm against her skin as it slid down her arm, pooling at her elbow before dripping down to the earth. 

Gwen released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, a deep gasp of relief that had her shoulders heaving now that the pressure had been removed. She cut another line beside the first one, then a third and a fourth, pain and pleasure rushing through her whenever she dug the knife into her skin. 

The stinging that remained once she had cleaned herself up and sat by the leftover campfire once more served as a reminder: a reminder to not forgive, to never forget. Love and trust meant pain, pain that chipped away at the remains of her defences. How many more blows she could endure before her shell cracked and broke? She did not want to find out. 

And if she had this physical ache, so close and fresh and real, then she did not have to think about the hurt that awaited her inside her mind.

~~~~

“What happened to your arm?” Quinn asked the next day.

They had packed all their things and were on the road once more, leaving the narrows paths between the trees that sprung up from the ground with no rhyme or reason in favour of a small road. Their focus now lay on putting as much distance between them and Vengerberg as possible, after all.

“What?” Gwen looked up before glancing at the bandage around her arm. “Oh, this? I fell into some bushes on my way back to camp. When you went to sleep, remember?” 

The half-elf nodded. “Ah, right. You should really be more careful.”

“Thank you for the advice. I’ll remember that next time I trip over a root.” When Gwen grinned at him, she caught James staring at from the corner of her eye. Where Quinn seemed to have fallen for it hook, line and sinker, the other man looked like he did not buy it at all. At least he remained quiet about it. 

“Reminds me of that time during sparrin’,” Quinn said, ignoring his friend’s attempt to bully him.

Gwen’s smile was gone even before she had managed to spread her lips completely. “Didn’t we promise not to speak of that?”

“Of what?” Her companion raised a brow and scratched the back of his head in a rather exaggerated manner. Then, his mouth made an ‘oh’ in realisation and his eyes widened. “Oh, you mean that time your foot got caught on a root and you stabbed yourself in the leg?”

A snort came from behind her, and without stopping Gwen swivelled around to face James and that grin on his face. Too surprised to see him smile like that, she forgot to be annoyed. 

She remembered something that humans liked to say, claiming that some people looked much younger when they laughed. The half-elf had never quite gotten it, what with her difficulty to guess age in the first place. But as she took sight of James’s wide smirk and yellowed teeth, she couldn’t help but note that the wrinkles in his face looked less severe than they did when he had that frown on his face. 

“You stabbed yourself in the leg?” he asked when their eyes met, still smiling. 

Richard made a muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like, “How?!” 

“It wasn’t really a stab,” Gwen tried with a shrug. “More like… a nick. Sure, I drew a little blood, but it wasn’t much more than that.”

Quinn burst into laughter. “A nick?! Gwen, you bled straight through your breeches and had to throw them away. You had to get stitches and I bet you have a scar like this on your leg.” He drew a diagonal line across his thigh, starting halfway to his knee and moving it to a hand span beneath his hip. An elbow found his stomach and he doubled over with a grimace. “Oof!”

“Details, details, m’dear Quinn!” the half-elf called out and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture without stopping to check if her friend was hurt. She opened her mouth to add insult to injury, but froze instead.

“…Gwen?” Quinn managed, his voice tight and straining as he turned to follow the half-elf’s gaze.

“Do you hear that?” she whispered, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to the side. 

“Hear what?”

“Hoofbeats,” James spat as if it were a curse.

The word had barely left his lips when the figures appeared on the horizon.


	41. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh... Another late update... You know how it goes, life...
> 
> On a semi-relevant note: please forgive me for this chapter.

Everyone stared at the approaching shadows. Except for the sound of hooves pounding against the dirt, James grinding his teeth together and Richard breathing through his nose, nothing could be heard. Not even the wind stirred as it waited for what would happen next. 

Gwen was the first to snap out of it, yanking Quinn’s sleeve and tapping a hand to James’s arm. “Trees. Now.”

Despite her command, she all but had to drag them off the road with her. James was the first to shake his head, straighten his back and nearly carry Richard along with them. Quinn almost tripped before he came to his senses and followed the others into the woods. 

Covered in the darkness of the leaves once more, Gwen didn’t wait for her eyes to adjust, instead trudging on with her arms in front of her. Her fingers found the bark of a tree and she stepped around it. James was right behind her with Richard in tow. 

“Isn’t it all right if we hide here?” Quinn whispered as he stepped over an outstretched tree root. “Wait ‘til they’ve passed?”

The half-elf shook her head. “If we saw them, then they saw us. We have to get away from the road.”

Nobody said a word after that. Instead they made their way deeper into the forest, with Gwen leading them in a diagonal line away from the path. Just in case the humans tried to follow them. 

She did not know for how long they waded through the shrubs and moved around tree trunks. It didn’t take long before everybody’s breathing had become laboured. She saw the sweat glistening on the skins of her companions whenever she looked back to check if the group was still complete. The wind refused to blow, denying them any coolness. 

Just when the half-elf opened her mouth, intent on letting them stop and catch their breaths for a short while, a different sound had her stopping in her tracks. Quinn all but crashed into her, cursing loudly as his hands found her shoulders in an attempt to keep her steady.

“Woman!” he shouted. He inhaled sharply, ready to yell the next thing, but she held a hand in front of his mouth.

Before she could explain, the barking returned. This time it was closer and louder and it made Quinn’s face grow pale. His lips trembled against her palm. Voices of men yelling and horses whinnying as they were guided through the thick growth of the forest accompanied the noise this time.

“Run!” Gwen hissed before she took off again, her companions hot on her heels. Even so, she knew they were doomed. There was no way they could outrun dogs. In the panic that took hold of her, she couldn’t think straight. What should they do? What _could_ they do? 

The moment they reached a small clearing within the rows of trees, James flung Richard to the ground in front of him and unsheathed his sword. Without asking what he was doing, she and Quinn released their bows. 

“Get behind a tree,” the human commanded as he did just that while dragging Richard behind him with one hand. The others did as he told them, their bows trained on the side of the clearing where they had just come from.

Gwen held her breath and concentrated on the spot at which the tip of her arrow pointed. Vaguely she wondered if they had enough arrows for this, but the choking panic halted when she breathed out through her mouth. At the corners of her mind, she sensed the stinging of the cuts on her wrists while they tried to bleed through the blanket of calm she had dragged over herself. Even so, she managed to push the pain away. 

And then the world around her came crashing down once more when a hound launched itself from the bushes, followed by two others. One of them struck the ground before it could land, an arrow sticking out of its chest. Without thinking, Gwen pulled another arrow from her make-shift quiver. 

Quinn’s arrow, on the other hand, missed its mark, and how could it not? He had barely ever touched a weapon in his life. Gwen did not know why she had made him one in the first place. 

She could not further contemplate the thought, since James rushed towards the animals with his sword raised. The first one to snap its teeth at him received a blow to the chest. The cut wasn’t enough to kill the beast, but it stopped its assault and slinked off with a pitiful whine. 

Seeing one of its companions dead on the ground and another fleeing with its tail between its legs, the last dog did not even try to attack James and sped off instead. It did not take a genius to figure out these animals had only been trained for search efforts, not combat.

That didn’t matter, though. Only a few moments later, a horse burst forth from between the trees. Already throwing its head up and stepping around while whinnying nervously, the smell of blood only worsened the horse’s anxiety. The soldier sitting on its back tried to hold the reigns steady and ready his sword at the same time, but he couldn’t quite get his mount under control again. 

Another horseman appeared behind him, this one on a dark stallion whose shoulders probably were taller than Gwen herself. Its coat shone in what little sunlight managed to make its way into the clearing.

It mattered none to James, who did not allow any of them to regain their bearings. Gwen followed suit, aiming at the mounted men. From the corner of her eye, she noted Quinn doing the same. 

The half-elf managed to hit the soldier riding a palomino gelding in the shoulder. The force of the blow, combined with the antsy behaviour of his mount, caused him to lose his balance. He fell to the ground with a yell, his armour clinking when he hit the ground. Now free, his horse whinnied and threw its head up before trotting off. 

Ignoring the guard on the stallion, James stalked over towards the fallen human, who struggled to get up again. From deeper into the forest, voices shouting indicated that more soldiers were on their way. More arrows soared through the air, but they missed the man on the stallion as he tried to close the distance between himself and the large man. 

James’s shoulders hunched and he lifted his sword without even glancing in the direction of the horse charging at him. Then he slid it into the downed man’s chest with ease. Blood cascaded out of the guard’s mouth and when his killer pulled his weapon free, he sagged back, as though his spine had disappeared. 

The man on the black stallion roared, holding his own blade ready. Cursing her lack of a sword, Gwen held her breath. She knew that yelling would not help when it came to James. Her friend beside her refused to stay quiet, however, and called out the other man’s name, but to no avail. 

In the end, Quinn’s yelling hadn’t been necessary. James raised his sword almost in a casual manner, as though he weren’t quite paying attention to the matter at hand, and caught the blow of his attacker without breaking a sweat. 

A yell came from somewhere to the right. Although Gwen ignored it and kept her bow trained on the man on the horse, from the corner of her eye she saw Quinn look past her in the direction of the cry. At first, somewhere at the back of her mind, she thought that it might have been one of the dogs yelping again. 

A moment later, however, a human rushed out of the bushes from the opposite direction, stumbling and holding his hands out in front of him as though he were praying. It then took Gwen a few more moments to recognise the person for who he was.

“Richard?!” Quinn muttered and lowered his bow. 

Gwen cursed before she darted out from behind her tree. At this rate, the man would trip into the battle and get caught between the clashing blades. No matter how irritating she might find him, the half-elf did not want him dying just yet. 

The stallion cried out as it reared, its front hooves kicking out at James, who moved out of the way with a speed that his large body belied. Even so, by now his shoulders had begun to heave, the fabric of his tunic darkening with his sweat. 

On the other side of the scene, Richard neared the two of them. Gritting her teeth, the half-elf pressed on. Each time her foot hit the ground, it sent a shock through her body, but she pushed through it. If he got tangled up in the fight…

Clinging to his horse’s back, the guard raised his sword once more. He most likely planned on using the moment to his advantage, but his eyes widened when he caught sight of Richard half running, half stumbling towards them. The blond opened his mouth several times and tried to call out, but all that came out were gasps and grunts. 

Even James turned ever so slightly and used the distraction to catch his breath. Gwen hoped it was enough for her to reach the damned humans in time, but even as she came close enough that, if she had launched herself, she could have tackled them, Richard placed himself between James and the stallion. 

He tried to spread his arms but was hindered by his bound hands. Instead, he settled on squaring his shoulders and planting his feet wide apart, his chin in the air. Even from where she was, Gwen could see that his blue eyes were hard and filled with defiance.

“Stop!” he called out, but to Gwen’s ears his voice sounded garbled and distorted. 

She saw James’s head follow the human as if someone had cast a spell on them that slowed down time. The guard pulled the reigns of his horse, making it take a couple of steps back even as its two front hooves remained in the air. A drop of sweat slid off of James’s forehead and shone as it flew through the air. A ray of sunlight blinded her as it was reflected off his raised blade. 

Richard’s hair swayed to and fro as the stallion’s hooves barely missed him. 

His head jerked back and a trail of saliva left his mouth, joining James’s sweat on his skin. Specks of red mingled with the spit and left tiny dots on the human’s tunic. More red joined them when James jolted and tugged his sword back as if he was surprised by what he had done. 

But what _had_ he done? Gwen’s mind refused to work yet again, leaving her with a blank mind. 

Richard staggered forward and reached out for James with wide eyes and furrowed brows. Dust sprung high into the air when he hit the ground with a thud. 

A scream from behind her broke the spell and only then did she realise that she stood still, her hands poised to grab one of the men despite the fact that she wasn’t yet close enough to do so. 

In front of her, James took two more steps, swung his blade in a sideways arch, and cut the soldier’s hand clean off. As the man cried out and slipped off his mount, James brought his weapon down once more, his face red and his teeth bared. The human’s head joined his hand on the floor beside Richard’s twitching body, spraying those nearby with blood. The stallion roared once more and dashed off, kicking up a cloud of dust as it went. 

Without tearing her gaze from the scene before her, Gwen sensed rather than saw Quinn rush by her. Towards the catastrophe surrounding James, who had dropped his sword to the ground and had placed his hands behind his head. He stared down at the bodies on the ground in front of him as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had done. 

“What… Why… How…?!” Quinn wailed as he tried to roll Richard onto his back. He was gasping and covered in blood, and the paleness of his face said enough. The blues of his eyes offered an even starker contrast now. 

James did not have an answer for any of Quinn’s questions. 

The moment of reprieve was cut short when the new shouts and cries from before returned, louder this time. They would have to mourn and process whatever had happened here some other moment.

Pushing the sight of Richard’s body from her mind, Gwen lifted her bow again and aimed at the bushes from where the hounds and horses had burst from before. 

“No,” Quinn croaked as he stood up before he reached down for James’s blade. “Gwen, you’ve gotta get outta here. You saw how many there were.”

The half-elf stared at her friend’s back, slack-jawed. “What are you… There’s no way—”

“Go!” he yelled without turning around. “You’ve got somethin’ to ask Iorveth, don’t you?”

_Why?_

But… did that really matter right now? In the face of death? Would she rather satisfy her own pain than be beside her friend at a time like this? 

Before she could respond, he shooed James away as well. “I’m not doin’ this for you. Someone like you doesn’t deserve to be treated like a human. A Witcher’d fit you just fine. But at least get her out of here. Get her home.”

By the sound of the approaching clamour, the soldiers would enter the clearing any moment now. They would see the scene before them, and they would…

James nodded before he moved towards Gwen, who dug her heels into the ground at the sight of him approaching her. 

“I’m not leaving!” she yelled, but before she could reach out towards her friend – no, her _brother_ – let alone take a step towards him, James had grabbed her by the arm and had started dragging her away from him. 

She scratched at him with her nails, kicked at him, slapped him, tried to sink her teeth into his skin, all the while crying out for Quinn, but the human would not let up. Not when the horses had surely burst through the bushes, or when the soldiers must have realised what had happened, or when the battle finally began, or when Quinn fell to the mud beside Richard, surrounded by nothing but enemies.

Only when another elf appeared before them and yanked them up into the trees did he stop carrying her along with him.

And only then did she stop calling out Quinn’s name and instead tried to stifle her wails by burying her face into Ivor’s chest.


	42. Pray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to everybody who guessed right. This chapter is for you guys! To mark the special yet horrendous occasion, this chapter is a beautiful length of 5k words. Enjoy!
> 
> Song is Praying by Kesha (man that song gives me goosebumps every time).

As flies and other insects surely began to cover Quinn’s body, the trio continued the slow trek back north, though ‘trek’ wasn’t quite the right word for it. 

Gwen staggered after Ivor and James, who rarely spoke to each other. Even Ivor and his gentle disposition did not know what to do with surly, brute, silent James. The human’s mood was even worse than usual after what had recently happened, and so Ivor instead directed his attention towards the half-elf. She, however, stared in front of her and ignored everything, instead letting her friend guide her along by the hand. 

When she was offered food or water, she ate or drank without asking where it came from. When someone asked her to gather wood for a fire, she stumbled into the forest and came back carrying enough twigs for half a week. When Ivor asked her a question, she offered single-syllable responses and let James fill in the rest with curt explanations.

To put it simply; it could have been better. 

“It’s my fault,” Gwen whispered one evening, her lips stinging when she parted them. She didn’t look away from the campfire, huddled up beneath a blanket Ivor had brought with him, and could only imagine the state of Quinn’s body right then. Probably staring up at the night sky with empty eyes – if he still had those to begin with.

“What is?” Ivor asked, sounding like he was speaking to a distressed child. Even beneath the numbing layer that had settled over the half-elf, his voice managed to soothe some part of her, buried deep inside of her. 

Even so, it didn’t stop the tears from gathering at the corners of her eyes and slipping down her cheeks.

“Gwen?” The elf reached out with knitted brows and caught a drop before it could fall from her chin. 

Gwen wrapped her fingers around his wrist and held his hand there, warm against her face. “He’s dead because of me.”

On the other side of the fire, James shifted until he lay on his back on the ground with his hands clasped over his stomach. Had she paid more attention to him, she would have seen how he rotated his thumbs around each other. 

“Why does… everybody… get hurt… or… or killed? Ivor… I… I’m so tired of all this… this…” She couldn’t find the words, so instead she lowered her teeth into her lips until she tasted blood.

Ivor’s fingers clenched her jaw, the pressure forcing her to let go of her lip. He watched her with his grey eyes, eyes she hadn’t realised she had missed so very much. They lingered on the tattoos that clawed their way up her jawline, followed the wet trails across her skin. He said nothing, though.

“Does it ever get any better?” A question that should have held hope, but instead only betrayed her despair. After all, she, better than anyone else, knew the answer to it. 

So it didn’t really surprise her when she caught sight of the minute shake of Ivor’s head. He hesitated, as if reluctant to ruin whatever dreams she may or may not have nurtured at the time.

Neither of them said a word after that. Ivor shifted to wrap his arms around his companion, pulling her frame, trembling ever so slightly, to his chest. And when her breathing eventually evened out, he let himself examine her properly. This was the first time he had gotten this close to her since their first meeting. Back then, however, he had been too overwhelmed by the whole situation to do anything other than hold Gwen and listen to her wails.

Her period in captivity hadn’t done her any good. Much of the fat and muscle she had built during her time in the forests of Flotsam, she had already lost once more. Even so, she somehow almost seemed fuller in other places, a most peculiar observation that Ivor filed away for later.

For now, he just wanted her to get back on her feet again. Though he knew that, with every time she got knocked back down, it would get more and more difficult for her to pull herself up. But that was what he was here for, right?

~~~~

Sometimes, words could simply not be spoken. Especially if one had been in the same situation, one knew that nothing could be said to fix things. Time was a healer of wounds, after all, no matter the scars that remained. Words weren’t always necessary, or even wanted. 

Which was why the majority of the trip up north was spent in silence. When they first set out, most that was said was in order to let the others know about recent developments. How Gwen and James had escaped from Vengerberg. That Iorveth had sent Ivor back to Flotsam. Gwen’s relationship with Quinn. The fact that Geralt and Iorveth would have left for Loc Muinne by now.

“Loc Muinne?” Gwen had asked. 

“For a summit. Iorveth wasn’t very clear about it…” Ivor had shaken his head. “Iorveth was always very clear about everything. He used to share all his plans with me. He always asked me for advice, even when it came to matters I knew nothing of, and still he would listen. When I asked him what had changed all that, he sent me for Flotsam.”

“Asshole.”

Ivor had shot her a frown. “Gwen, you know just as well as I do that Iorveth always has a reason for everything he does.”

Crossing her arms, Gwen had muttered, “So then tell me why he sold me out.”

“I don’t know,” the elf had answered, lifting his hands with the palms up, fingers spread out. “But I do know he has a reason for it nonetheless. I worry about him.”

That was after they had already decided that they would journey north, back towards Vergen, to find out the whereabouts of the elves. 

Otherwise, they travelled in silence. Gwen and Ivor walked side by side, so close to each other that their hands occasionally grazed each other, with James up front. Every now and then they would talk shortly, but the conversations always died down sooner rather than later. The human mostly communicated through single words and grunts, and only when someone asked him a direct question. 

And thus, the days went by uneventfully. They got up with the sun, leaving their camp and finding the path once more. They walked until they were tired and took a break, after which they went on their way again. With summer came long days, so they had plenty of time to search a new place for the night and hunt for dinner. With the woods being this lush, it was hard not to find enough food for the three of them. 

That was why, when Gwen stopped walking, even James turned around, his face for once not set with that scowl of his. Her face was pale and her eyes wide, her expression the embodiment of panic. Ivor opened his mouth and was about to ask her if she was okay, but before he could, she darted off the road and disappeared between the bushes.

Ivor went after her at once, leaving James on his own with his brows raised and his hands on his hips. So many things ran through the elf’s mind as he raced after his friend. A gnawing fear, wondering if she had somehow finally snapped. Or if she had heard something, some danger nearby. 

But then he recognised the sound of someone vomiting and he found the half-elf on her hands and knees, hunched over the ground and heaving violently.

“Are you all right?” he asked though she was very much not ‘all right’ as he knelt beside her and ran a hand down her back. Beneath his touch, he felt her body shiver whenever it relaxed for even a moment.

Gwen understandably said nothing and only clenched her eyes shut while her stomach emptied itself, despite the fact that she had barely eaten anything lately. She had refused most of the food that he had offered her, accepting only the bare necessities to stay somewhat fit. Ivor frowned but said nothing, instead just rubbing his friend’s back.

Her body did not feel warmer than usual and the sweat that covered her face had appeared only when she started throwing up. It was all but impossible for her to have eaten something bad, too.

There was nothing Ivor could do but shrug it off. By then he had to help Gwen get to her feet, so he was left with no more time to ponder the situation.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Gwen only nodded before she made her way back to James, who still stood waiting for them. The human tilted his head to the side as he waited for the two of them to catch up to him. Once they had gotten close enough, he turned and was on his way again, without displaying any interest in what had happened. He was the first human Ivor had encountered in a long time that he could not read. From what he could garnered from the bits and pieces that Gwen had told him, James had been a prisoner like her and had won his freedom through a game of cards. She had not been able to tell him much more than that, or had been unwilling to do so. 

“Say,” he started as they started following James again. “I know you said you want to find Iorveth again… But what do you plan on doing when you actually find him?”

The half-elf tensed and refused to look at him. For half a moment, he thought she might throw up again. “Just… talk to him. Ask… ask him why he did… what he did.”

“I wish I would tell you that myself,” Ivor murmured with a sigh that made his shoulders sag. 

“That’s why we’ll find him.” Finally, she looked at him. Her brown eyes seemed darker due to the rings beneath them. In that moment, she looked so old and tired that Ivor feared she really might not recover this time. 

He thought back to how she had looked when he had found her in Loredo’s room, naked and bleeding on that bed. He could remember little about that day beside the motion of cutting the ropes binding her wrists. Back then, her gaze had been empty, her lively brown irises having turned a muddy colour. If it weren’t for the anger that had still burned somewhere deep within them, now and then, he would have worried a lot more.

For now, he could only believe that she would pull through yet again. That stubborn nature of hers was one of the reasons why only she could keep up with Iorveth, after all. It made it all the more unfortunate that the commander had thrown her to the side like he had, though Ivor refused to believe that the leader did not have a good reason for it. He had to. Otherwise, it would mean that he had known his friend less well than that he had thought.

~~~~

“I’m tellin’ ya!” the bald farmer yelled and waved his pitchfork to and fro. Gwen took a step back, afraid he might accidentally prick her with it. “Me cousin’s friend ‘imself was there! Saw it wit ‘is very own eyes!”

All three of them stared at him, glancing at the pitchfork every now and then.

“Okay…” Gwen began slowly, “You’re telling us that your cousin’s friend, and any other witnesses who were there, saw a dragon flying over Loc Muinne?”

“’At’s wha’ I’ve been tellin’ ya!” the man replied with yet another wave of his pitchfork. His other hand stroked the blond moustache that covered his upper lip.

“And then everyone started slaughtering each other, is that right?” 

“Aye, aye. Me cousin’s friend saw it all wit ‘is very own eyes.”

_"Bad things? Like what? Dragons soaring through the sky and wars breaking out, all because of one dead Squirrel?"_

The farmer continued almost cheerfully, “And from me wife’s uncle who lives to the south, I heard that those bloody Nilfgaardians…”

Gwen never heard the end of it, for by then black dots had appeared before her eyes, darting around her field of vision like playful faeries that eluded her gaze whenever she tried to look at them. All of a sudden, her head felt like it was no longer attached to her body, and before she knew it, she hit the ground with a thud. 

Oh Iorveth, what have you done this time?

~~~~

When Gwen opened her eyes, the first thing to cross her mind was, _Another dreamless sleep._ Unlike other times, however, this time she felt like that hadn’t slept at all. With that dull ache still in her bones, the half-elf sat up.

A stab of pain through her head had her hands flying up to her face, where they found a piece of cloth wrapped around her head.

_Dragons soaring through the sky and wars breaking out, all because of one dead Squirrel?"_

That’s right. The farmer, he had spoken of the summit where apparently everything had gone wrong. Something with Nilfgaard and Iorveth and…

_"And because without him, many bad things will happen."_

“ _And when he does happen to die, I'll get to lead my life never knowing if I failed or not. Is that what you're saying?"_

Her throat constricted and her stomach felt like it had tied itself into a knot. Clapping her hands over her mouth and closing her eyes, she hunched over. The hate that had permeated her limbs, forcing her to move well past her limits these past few days, turned cold all at once. Needles of regret stung her, causing her skin to itch. Her fingers flinched at the familiar sensation and gripped the bed sheets until her knuckles turned white. 

The scent of baked goods wafted in through the doorway that led out to a hall. For the blink of an eye, the woman thought she was home again, back in Vengerberg. She would get up and find her mother waiting for her at the dining table, bread from the bakery littering its surface. 

Then the moment was gone, the switch between moods almost leaving her prone, just in time for the bile to rise at the back of her throat. Even then, there was nothing but saliva, since there was nothing left inside of her except for stomach acids. 

“Again?!” Ivor’s voice rang out behind her all of a sudden just as he pressed his hands to her back again.

Tears stung her eyes when the smell of bread grew stronger and turned foul. Though when she couldn’t stop retching, it wasn’t her being sick that made her cry.

There had been only one other time in her entire life that the smell of baked goods had made her vomit.

“Gwen?” Ivor’s hand stilled its rubbing when the sobs racked her body. She merely shook her head, hoping that her hair, longer now, would fall in front of her face. “Gwen, what’s wrong?”

“Oh dear!” A grey-haired woman rushed into the room. She came prepared, dragging a bucket of water and a mop with her. “You hit your head quite hard when you fell, didn’t you?”

The half-elf nodded mutely, refusing to look her friend in the eye. Instead she stared at the older woman as she began to clean the floor while humming a tune under her breath. 

“I… I’m sorry,” Gwen managed in a hoarse voice.

The stranger waved the apology away and smiled. “’s quite all right. Happens to the best of us, doesn’t it?”

Gwen and Ivor watched her finish up cleaning. It didn’t take much longer before she got up and straightened her back. She stretched herself out until something in her body popped, after which she smiled at the couple. “Breakfast’s ready if you feel up for it. Your other friend’s there as well.”

“Thank you,” Ivor replied. His hands hadn’t left her yet. “We’ll be there in a bit.”

Once the woman disappeared down the hall, Gwen asked, without turning around, “What happened?” 

The elf finally pulled back slowly, as if fearing she might be sick again, and sat down in front of her with his legs crossed. Truth be told, she felt like she might, too, but he didn’t need to know that. Right then, there were many things he did not need to know. 

“After hearing about what happened at Loc Muinne, you fainted and hit your head when you fell. The farmer’s wife took care of the bleeding and had us carry you here. That was yesterday.” Ivor brushed a strand of hair out of Gwen’s sweat-covered face. “You had me scared there. And with… well…” 

There was uncertainty in his voice and when the half-elf finally lifted her gaze to meet his, she could actually see the fear in his cloudy eyes. She wanted so badly to just tell him about everything. About the seed of fear that had planted its seed in the pit of her stomach. About how she felt disconnected from everything happening around her. About how tired she was. About how she wanted to stab Iorveth with a blade. About how she refused to think of the possibility that he was dead, because if so, then what was there left for her to do with her life? 

Sooner or later she would have to tell him about most of it, if not everything. And she would, but not right now. Right now, she just wanted to lie in this bed and stare at the wooden ceiling. No matter how much time she spent out in the wilderness, lying in a room like this would always make her feel a fraction more at peace. 

And so instead she smiled and ruffled his dark hair, only then noticing just how much it had grown. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Though he did not look quite convinced, he returned the gesture and pushed himself up from the bed. “Just so you know, we’ve decided to stay here for a short while. A few days, at most. We’re not even a day’s worth of travelling from Vergen, we’re relatively safe out here, and you need to recover from whatever’s bothering you.”

“Fine,” Gwen said with a sigh. Ivor’s brows rose, and she shrugged. “I’d just be a burden to you otherwise.”

Ivor chuckled and returned the ruffle. “Believe me, you wouldn’t be a burden to me even if you tried.”

“Don’t tempt me.” The grin that parted her lips felt unfamiliar, but she welcomed the sensation nonetheless. “But before that, I think I need something to eat. Just… just none of that.” The half-elf sniffed and gestured to the air. 

“You have something against bread? Too luxurious for you, miss?” her friend asked as he nudged her in the side, though at the same time he drew his eyebrows together again. 

“No. I just don’t feel like it right now.” 

The elf stared at her for a while longer, that half-smile still playing on his lips, before he nodded and got up. He held out a hand for her and said, “All right then. Let’s go find you something to eat.” 

After getting dressed, Gwen followed Ivor to the room where the others already sat around the table. James nibbled on a piece of bread in silence while he listened to the farmer complain about the harvest. On the other side of the table were two other men and one woman. The old woman from before stood behind the stove and shot them a smile that made the corners of her dark eyes crinkle when they entered. 

Here, the smell of the eggs overpowered that of the bread, and Gwen’s stomach rumbled loudly. 

“Feeling better, are you?” the older woman asked with a laugh, to which Gwen responded with a nod. “Here, have some of these.”

Even before the two of them could sit down, plates full of scrambled eggs were placed before them. Gwen could only stare at it, for her brain refused to cooperate. The last time she had been taken in by humans, she had been a captive. What reason did these people have to help her now? 

As paranoia crept into the back of her mind, Ivor nudged her in the side before he claimed a chair. He must have sensed the shift in her mood and shot her a look begging her to be quiet. “Thank you very much. It smells lovely.”

“Why… Why are you doing all of this for us?” The half-elf gestured at the table as she ignored the weight of seven gazes settling on her. 

“But why wouldn’t we?” the girl asked with a frown, which Gwen only saw after she blew the blonde bangs out of her face. 

The elderly woman smiled again and brushed a strand of her hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear. “From what your friend here told us, it seems that you were in danger after abandoning your camp of elves. And when you fainted on our doorstop, how could we not offer you our help?”

“Now I know tha’ Squirrels are a despicable people an’ all that. But bein’ punished tryin’ ta do the right thing…” The farmer shook his head before he stuffed a chunk of bread into his mouth. “Scandalous!” 

“Even after having marked yourself in such a way…” His wife gestured towards her cheek, her eyes on the ink covering the lower parts of Gwen’s face. 

The walls of the room began to move in on her as paranoia turned into panic and her chest became too large for her own skin. What had James told them? What could she possibly say to go along with the situation? Wouldn’t she just ruin the illusion no matter what she did?

And so with that voice screaming in her mind, she placed one hand on Ivor’s shoulder and the other on her stomach. “Sorry for my distrust… It is hard to come by trustworthy people these days, it seems. My partner and I, we joined the Squirrels believing it would be the right thing for our kind. It was not appreciated when we found out we were expecting, however, and we finally saw them for what they truly are.”

Something flickered in Ivor’s eyes, but it passed too soon for Gwen to recognise it. He bit his lip before he said, “It seems that they are just as bad as they claim humans to be.” He turned to look at James. “This young man was kind enough to accompany us as we made our way to Vergen, where it is said that elves and humans can live side by side in peace. We lost some comrades on our way here and are in need of some respite before we are on our way again.”

One of the other men – the younger one, by the looks of it – scoffed. His chair screeched when he pushed it back before storming off, out of the room.

“Ah, don’t mind him,” the remaining man said. “Bill’s had a bit o’ a bad experience with your kind, so he doesn’t do too well around you lot.”

“Cam!” the girl hissed and jerked backwards.

Cam yelped and reached for his leg beneath the table. “What was that for?!” 

“Shut it, both o’ ya!” the farmer shouted. “What are ya? Twelve?!” 

“Come now, dear. It’s difficult for all of them,” the mother of the group stated as she sat down beside James at the other end of the table. “How far along are you, dear?”

Swallowing hard, the half-elf did a quick calculation before responding, “Two months, give or take.”

“How exciting!” The woman clapped her hands together. Her enthusiasm died down rather quickly when she noted, “Quite dangerous for a mother-to-be to wander around like you are, though. Wouldn’t it be best to stay here for a while longer? At least until the little one is born?”

Gwen froze. She hadn’t even had the time to properly think through her current situation since realising what might be wrong with her. She didn’t even know why she had used this story to begin with. The more they spoke about it, however, the more the situation dawned upon her. 

She opened her mouth but quickly closed it again, afraid she might become sick once more. Before she could, Ivor grabbed her wrist and all but dragged her into the chair beside him. 

“Thanks for the offer, but that’s really quite all right! We have some people waiting for us in Vergen who can take care of us.” The elf smiled his brightest smile yet, but his tight grip on her wrist betrayed his emotions. Somehow, Gwen had a feeling they were going to have a long talk if they ever managed to survive this. 

“Good, good!” the farmer exclaimed through a mouthful of eggs. His wife leaned over the table and smacked him on the arm, after which he wiped his mouth with a hand. “If ye ‘scuse us, we’ve got a farm to tend to. Cameron, Peggy, go ‘n fetch Bill ‘n follow me after.”

“Yes dad,” the two of them muttered before shovelling the last of their breakfasts into their mouths. They said their goodbyes and disappeared through the same door as Bill. 

One could almost cut the silence that settled in the room once they had left. James continued to eat his meal at a leisurely pace, unperturbed by it all. Ivor, still gripping Gwen, started breaking his fast as well, that pleasant smile never once slipping from his face. The half-elf, who began to think that Ivor’s grasp might be a comfort thing for the elf himself more than anything else, poked at her eggs with a fork, suddenly having lost all of her appetite but still adamant on eating at least a bite. 

The old woman sat at her end of the table, her elbows on its surface and her chin on her knuckles. With her eyes closed and a large smile on her face, she looked satisfied and at peace. For half a moment, Gwen feared the poor woman might have died then and there. She hadn’t, however, and after a while she got up, whistling the same tune she had been humming before as she started to collect the plates that the others had left behind. 

By the time the half-elf managed to empty her plate, a feat of which she was rather proud, James had already left as well, muttering something about a bath, and Ivor had finally let go of her, albeit reluctantly. That left the three of them in the stifling atmosphere, although it seemed like the old woman had yet to notice it. 

When all the plates had been rinsed and the table cleaned, she sat back down again on her chair and took up the same position as before. Gwen rubbed her hands across her thighs in a vain attempt to clear them of the sweat that covered them as she waited for somebody to say something. _Anything._

“So, where did you lot come from to begin with? I haven't heard anything of elven camps set up nearby, so you must have travelled from quite far away, haven’t you?”

“We came from Vengerberg,” Gwen said. “There’s a settlement near there. They left us to be found by soldiers, but James, he helped us escape.”

“That friend of yours doesn’t say a lot, does he?” 

“No, he doesn’t… But he’s okay. He has his moments.”

The woman chuckled at that. “Vengerberg, huh. Did you travel all the way by foot? There were no horses with you when we found you.”

Something had been looming over Gwen since the moment she had woken up. In the midst of the chaos known as breakfast, she had all but forgotten about it. Now that they were all alone, it had reappeared, and the half-elf couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Miss…”

“Oh dear, just call me Delores.” 

“Fine. Delores, your husband told us about what had happened at the summit of Loc Muinne, but he skimmed over many details. I was wondering if maybe you could tell us more about what went wrong?”

Just like that, the smile on Delores’s face disappeared and she sighed. Gwen felt herself tense under the woman’s gaze. “The real question is, what _didn’t_ go wrong? This is nothing people such as yourselves should be interested in.”

“The thing is…” Gwen started, but her voice failed her when she tried to speak the words. Her throat tightened again, and she wondered if she would really start crying again, here and now. 

“A friend of ours was there and we haven’t heard of him since,” Ivor finished for her. This time, when his hand found hers, it was to give it a gentle squeeze. 

She needed it when the old women sucked in a breath in between her teeth and said, “I’m so sorry…”

The half-elf shook her head so hard her hair bobbed to and fro with the movement. “No, there’s still hope. Just tell us what you know.” When Delores remained silent, she added, “Please.”

“…I don’t know much, and what I do know, I know from hearsay, so who’s to say what is or isn’t true? But from what I’ve heard, Temeria will remain independent, and there was some nonsense about the Conclave of Mages reforming. Not that that matters any to us. We all pretend everything is fine and dandy, but we also hear of Nilfgaardians attacking towns that lie north of the Yaruga, and so we make sure we are ready for an attack. The sooner you leave here, the better, to tell the truth. Vergen will surely be able to defend you. I hope.”

Nilfgaardians north of the Yaruga, Temeria almost torn apart, a reformed Conclave of Mages. It sounded like the underworld had cracked open and all the demons were crawling out, one by one. 

“A dragon,” Gwen murmured, “your husband, he said something about a dragon…” 

“I know. It sounds too crazy to be real, doesn’t it? That’s exactly why I believe it’s true. A dragon attacked the city, burned dozens of fine men to death before flying off. And then the knights started killing each other off, not caring for those caught in the middle. Those who bring the news with them were lucky enough that they weren’t at the summit itself, or else they might not have survived either.”

_Dragons soaring through the sky and wars breaking out, all because of one dead Squirrel?"_

By now, Ivor’s squeeze had turned into full-blown kneading.

“If your friend was anywhere near there, there’s a good chance he simply didn’t make it. I’m so sorry…”

Gwen wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but instead she remained silent and stared at nothing. Off to the side, as if from a large distance, she heard Ivor say something, but for the life of her she couldn’t have guessed what it was. 

There was no way Iorveth had died… Was there? 

“I… I need to go…” And with that, the half-elf got up and all but stumbled out of the kitchen.


	43. Afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan it's scary how long it's been since the last time I updated. I've been busy juggling my internship (technically a full-time job), looking for a job (my internship ends in January), the website I'm an editor for (for free) and gaming. Though I HAVE finally started playing The Witcher 3! Which is good news for you all since that'll get my juices flowing. And if I haven't found a job by the time my internship ends, that means I'll have a lot of time to play games and write. Silver linings, eh?
> 
> Anyways, I've had this chapter ready and proofread for legit a month now, but kept forgetting to upload it. Kick me if you want to, because I deserve it. And now on to more emotions and feels! Good luck have fun and let me know what you guys think :')
> 
> Chapter title is a song by Nelly Furtado.

By the time the sun had almost reached the highest point in the sky, Gwen had found a spot in the shade of a tree where she sat down with her legs crossed and her eyes closed. She breathed in deep through her nose and released the air through her mouth, hoping it would ease the tension in her body. 

Until then, she had purposely kept her mind clear of any thoughts that ranged beyond, “Where can I get away from everyone?” Now that she had accomplished her mission, it was all she could do to not fall apart. But even as she sat beneath that tree, there was no way for her to ignore that which she already knew. Her fingers itched to scratch the wounds on her wrists, to distract herself from the terror that welled up inside of her, but then she heard her mother’s voice from a long, long time away say, “Think of the child!”

And then Elric stood in front of her, snowflakes clinging to his hair as he watched her with wide eyes. The grin that spread across his face only made the loneliness that she felt dig all the deeper. His hands grazed her back whenever she threw up and rubbed her belly when they lay on the bed, side to side. They snatched her son away even before she could lay eyes upon him.

Iorveth couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t leave her alone like this. 

“Mind if I join you?” Ivor’s voice dragged her out of her mind. When he saw the wild look in her eyes as they darted across his features, he lowered himself beside her with measured movements. “Gwen, are you okay?”

_I’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’mfineI’m_

“No,” she croaked. “Ivor… Ivor… I can’t do this… Not again… Not alone.”

The elf let out a breath and lifted his arm, but dropped it again when the half-elf jerked away from him. “So, it’s true then?” When his friend only nodded, he asked, “How long have you known?”

“Since this morning,” Gwen whispered. “At this point, it doesn’t have to be true… But the symptoms… They are the same.” She looked up and her nostrils flared at the thought. “Ivor. They _can’t_ be the same. I can’t…” With what could only be described as a whimper, she hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in between them. “Not again.”

“Oh, Gwen…” Ivor murmured and he carefully placed a hand on her shoulder, felt her tense and then relax beneath his touch. “What do you plan to do, then?”

Another question she did want to think about. She did not know if she could go through the whole ordeal again. Even now, simply sitting beneath this tree, she felt trapped within her own body. The first time, every new change had been met with wonder and excitement, with a smile and a gasp. 

Now she only dreaded what would come, how this development would tear what little control she had over herself out of her grasp. If someone like Iorveth decided whether she lived or died, she would still be able to fight his judgement as herself. This, however… This would seal her fate from the inside out; her own body would betray her and there would be nothing that she could do. 

Killing the child would be the ultimate act of grasping the control over her body with both hands and yanking it free again. But was that worth taking a life for? The life of an innocent being that would never see the sky in summer, would never smell the scent of cut grass, would never cry over a scraped knee… 

Possibly the last piece of Iorveth that would never roam the world again. 

“Hey,” Ivor said as he nudged her. “It’s all right. You have plenty of time to think this over. And whatever you decide… Just remember that I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“Oh Ivor.” Gwen leant back to rest her head against his shoulder, finally allowing him to move his arm farther around her. “What would I do without you?”

He chuckled, causing tremors to run throughout her body as she lay against him. “Let us not think about that.”

The tree under which they sat stood at the top of a small hill that overlooked the fields around them. At the foot of it – though it wasn’t high enough to actually have a foot to begin with – the farm of Delores and her family had been built, offering a stark contrast to the farmland around it. 

From up here, the layout of the property became clearer: almost a perfect square with a plaza in the middle. A stable took up one side of it, with the horses inside sticking their heads out through the doors. Nearby, what must have been Delores stood bent over a row of buckets. The horses whinnied loudly, and Delores responded as though she were talking to humans. 

Other houses had been built around the main building, smaller but still large enough to offer quite a few people a home. Most likely all of Delores’s children were married and had children of their own, who stayed in those surrounding buildings. 

The farmer himself sat atop a cart pulled by two oxen. Even from up here, his harsh whistling could be heard. Whenever a neighbour travelled past, he would stop his work and exchange a few shouted words with them before moving on again. 

Two of his children were carrying buckets and herding the cows and sheep in a large field on  
the other side of the building, while one small figure stood by the gate, watching. Three others ran in a circle just behind it. Children at play on a warm summer day. How long had it been since Gwen had seen something like that? 

“Do you… Do you really believe Iorveth is dead?” she asked without tearing her gaze away from the landscape before her. Maybe because she was afraid to see what Ivor’s face might look like as he pondered the question. 

The leaves in the tree behind them rustled when a braze rushed through them. The wind carried with it the sound of children screaming in delight, of cows mooing and of people talking. When it died down again, so did the noises. 

“I don’t know,” Ivor finally admitted. “I do know that Iorveth is too stubborn to go down without a fight. But any time might be the last.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was what she needed to hear. As she sat there, caged inside her own body, she realised she would have to come to terms with the possibility sooner or later. And the sooner, the better.

“But,” the elf continued, “we shouldn’t give up until we know for sure. Until we’ve seen his remains for ourselves, there is always the chance that he’s still out there, somewhere. Doing what he does best.”

“Being a pain in someone’s ass?” Gwen sniffled, trying to keep her voice light but at the same time balling her hands into tight fists. Until then, the thought of Iorveth actually surviving had eluded her mind. But to imagine him living on and starting a new existence without her, hurt her more than his death ever could. No, if he was out there somewhere, alive, then she would find him and make him miss her. No matter what it took. 

Ivor chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Don’t you worry. We will go and be a pain in his ass for once. As long as you don’t do anything rash.”

Not really listening to what he said, the half-elf just nodded. Her body was stiff and sore all of a sudden, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to climb into a bed and sleep for an entire week. 

She did none of that, however, and simply continued to watch the farmers and their families go about their day while she sniffled every once in a while.

~~~~

Sitting atop that hill, it felt like it took far too long for the sun to start sinking towards the horizon once more. When dinnertime finally arrived, Delores collected everyone to feed them in the kitchen. Some members from that morning were missing, whereas others had replaced them. It was generally chaotic, with half a normal family gathered around a table, and Gwen soon found herself exhausted. She had never experienced anything like that, and in combination with her condition, it left her both emotionally and physically aching.

Once everyone was finished, it was Ivor who dragged her towards her room at the first opportune moment, muttering something about getting her to bed, and that was exactly what he did. He let her undress herself, and in no time she was tucked into bed.

When Ivor got up to leave, Gwen asked, “Will you stay here for tonight… Please?”

The elf did not hesitate before he, too, lost most of his attire and climbed into the bed behind her. She lay on her side with her back towards him, whereas he lay flat facing up, his left arm touching her. 

“Good night,” Ivor whispered just before he turned onto his other side. 

For the longest time, nobody said a thing. Gwen had no idea how much time passed, though she never once felt like closing her eyes. The thoughts inside her mind morphed into one nagging feeling that would not leave her be. Even the sounds from outside – wind blowing, leaves rustling, crickets chirping – did nothing to calm her. 

The moon shone its light through a crack in the window, illuminating part of the room and giving Gwen even less motivation to try and fall asleep. She shifted onto her back, her hands folded over her stomach, and instead decided to listen to Ivor’s breathing. It was too shallow for him to be asleep, but he didn’t speak or move either. 

She thought back to the many times she had shared such a tiny space with Quinn. They had often gone on camping trips in the woods surrounding Vengerberg, squished together in a tent barely big enough for the two of them. Their shoulders would touch, but they wouldn’t mind. Gwen could always listen to the sound of him snoring for hours on end. It was one of the things she had missed the most after leaving the city. Now, however, it was yet another sound she would never get to hear again. 

“Ivor?” she whispered, her hand ghosting across the sheets in search of her friend’s fingers. A hum came from beside her and she continued, “I miss Quinn.”

And just like that, the tears slipped down her temples and dripped into her ears. She sniffled as her hands fisted in the sheets, mourning her loss while angered at herself. Since when had she begun to cry so often and so freely? She couldn’t believe how weak she had gotten. Ivor did not seem to care as much when he rolled over, his fingers roaming across her face to trace the wet streaks like he always did. 

“Why do you always do that?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Do what?”

“This.” She touched his digits that still touched her face. “You always touch me like this when I cry.”

“Oh.” The elf sounded taken aback and would have pulled away had Gwen not held him still. “I did not realise that. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No, just… curious.”

“Perhaps it’s the difference in expressiveness between dh’oine and seidhe.” Her friend tried to shrug.

“Elves don’t cry?” 

“We do, just… Less often. Never this close to others.” When Gwen only sniffed in response, Ivor asked, “What do you miss about Quinn?”

Silence was the only response he received, together with an increase in tears that met his touch. Gwen hugged herself when she started trembling, as if the question had opened a dam of both feelings and memories.

“It’s strange,” she managed. “The first time I lost him, when I left Vengerberg, was pretty rough. My mother was dead. My house was gone. I was wanted. And I had to leave behind the only other person who truly cared about me. But I always took… always felt relieved, since I knew he was still out there, somewhere.” Sniffing, the half-elf rubbed a sleeve against her nose and eyes, dirtying the cloth of her shirt. “But now he’s not. He’s just… Gone. And if only I…”

Sobs forced their way past her throat, breaking off her sentence. Instead she pressed her hands against her face and curled herself up into a ball beneath the blankets. “Suddenly, I’m remembering things about him I’d forgotten. Like the way he slurred and got all cuddly whenever he was drunk. Or how, whenever we practiced with our bows, his aim would always be a bit off, to the right, no matter how much he adjusted. Or how he was always so afraid of horses after he got kicked off of one.” 

Humming here and there, Ivor continued to hold and stroke her.

“He once told me that he always wanted a daughter, so I could be her godmother. Believed that I would very much like that. He never mentioned my own son when he spoke of it, though I knew what he was thinking about. And now he… He’ll never… Have any children at all… And here I am… With Iorveth’s… And what if he’s dead? He can’t just… Leave me like this… He just… He can’t…”

After that, nothing coherent left her lips, but still the elf nodded as if he understood everything she had just said. 

“And what if… What if… Elric comes to take this one as well?” The high pitch that crept into her voice belied the delirious panic that had seeped through to her core. 

“Gwen,” Ivor finally spoke as he brushed her hair out of her face, “from what you told me, the man would have been a hundred years old by now. You know just as well as I do that that’s not possible.”

The half-elf dug her fingernails into her arms and bit her lip. “I know, but…”

“Come.” Even before she could find purchase, Ivor had already pried her fingers away. “You’re tired. Tomorrow we’ll start worrying again, all right? Right now, you can’t change a thing, so go to sleep. It’s all right to get some rest. All right?” 

Sighing, Gwen nodded and forced herself to relax, despite the fear and sadness that still clawed at her throat. In her mind she knew he was right – no amount of being upset now would work. If only she could just turn off her emotions that easily.

Despite thinking that, when Ivor draped his arm over her and moved closer to her back, his chest moving against her back with each breath he took, she felt herself drift off into yet another dreamless sleep.


	44. Deception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had my first day of traineeship today. SO TIRED! But I promised to update today, so update today I shall! This one took longer than it should have to write because it ended up being a beast of a chapter with a beautiful 6.5K words. So y'all better enjoy the hell out of it! Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Chapter title is a song by Dance Gavin Dance.

The next morning found only the three of them and the family’s mother at the table for breakfast.

“There’s a gathering at the farm next door,” Delores explained as she handed them plates filled with scrambled eggs and thin strips of bacon. Ivor and James also received a warm piece of bread. “Everyone goes there to sell their wares and buy other necessities. Greg will go out soon too, so I’d best go help him.” With one last smile, she left the three of them on their own. 

Though slightly nauseated by the smell of bread, Gwen tried her best to ignore it and enjoy her meal as much as possible, hoping it would not see daylight again. In an attempt to distract herself, she turned to James, whom she hadn’t seen a lot since arriving here, and asked, “How have you been holding up, James?” 

The man gave her a look that she interpreted as, ‘I should be asking you that.’ Though the two of them hadn’t spoken since she had revealed her… current condition, he had not seemed all that surprised. With those keen eyes of his, it wouldn’t have surprised her if he had known it even before she had. 

But instead he announced, “I’ve decided to stay here.” 

“What?” Gwen put down her fork and stared at the human. Her mind was barely holding together as it was, and she felt like her entire world was hanging by a rope. With every change, be it the death of Quinn, the loss of Richard, the disaster at Loc Muinne or the realisation that she had somehow gotten pregnant again, a thread of rope snapped and her world came closer to dropping into the void down below. 

Ivor’s hand was on her in a flash, almost as if to hold her down, but the half-elf barely even registered the touch. 

“They need all the help they can get,” James added in what must have been the longest sentence he had ever spoken to her. “Especially with the Black Ones crossing the Yaruga. You know better than anyone how it goes. There’ll be a war, and no way people like this can afford to leave this place behind.” 

Gwen opened her mouth, though she had no idea what she wanted to say. “You promised—”

“I promised Quinn to get you home.” James gestured towards the elf beside her. “This is as close to home as it gets, from what I hear. Besides, you heard what he said. I don’t deserve to be treated like a human. Those elves of yours, wherever they might be, they’re gonna treat me as exactly that. Better to stay here and work like a farm animal. Do some good for a change.”

Tearing her watery gaze away from his determined one, Gwen stared at her full plate, all appetite vanished. “Nothing I say will make you change your mind, will it?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. The knuckles on her hands turned white as she tightened her grip on her knife and fork, afraid she might chuck them at someone. Everyone and everything around her was changing without her permission, without waiting until she was ready. 

_Stop acting like a child,_ she heard herself tell herself. _The world isn’t about you. It never has been and it never will be. Suck it up._

She drew in a deep breath through her nose and swallowed hard before looking up. James was still staring at her, his face blank, but still waiting to see if she would be all right. And so, thinking about how, no matter how much she disagreed with his way of living, he, too, had gone through a shitload to get to this point, she shot him a small smile. One that said that she would always be all right. Or so she hoped. 

“All right then,” she whispered with a nod. “If that is what you want.” Her hold on her utensils slackened and she hesitated for a moment. “I suppose you’ll be more welcome here than wherever we end up.”

“That is for sure,” Ivor added as he glanced at her. It seemed that he had worried about that for a while longer. Catching her look, he lifted his shoulders and said, “You know how our squad treated an inh’eid such as yourself. What do you think they’ll do to a dh’oine, even one we bring along?”

“You may not have noticed, but I haven’t really been doing any practical thinking at all lately,” the half-elf admitted before stuffing a forkful of egg into her mouth. 

James chuckled before digging in as well. Hearing the sound of laughter rumble through his chest, Gwen couldn’t help but be happy and sad at the same time. Somehow, she had gotten attached to his presence. It would be strange to sit by a campfire in the forest without his heavy breathing on the other side. 

“When will you be leaving, then?” the man asked through a mouthful of bread. 

“Whenever she’s feeling up to it, I suppose,” Ivor replied, after which two sets of eyes landed upon the half-elf once more. 

Though she had enjoyed the peace and quiet here, she was already starting to feel restless. Staying still for this long only worsened the feeling of being trapped, and this way there was so much time to think about everything. Besides, the longer they loitered around, the worse their chances of finding out if anybody had survived Loc Muinne. And with the Nilfgaardians supposedly approaching… 

She swallowed and said, “The sooner the better, I think.”

The others nodded at that. None knew what to say then, and so everyone concentrated on their plates instead. James was the first one to finish his food, but instead of leaving like Gwen had expected him to do, he sat back.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asked with a nod in her direction. 

“Well, first of all we should get to Vergen, I think.”

“Not that,” the man added. “I meant with the kid.”

Taken aback by the fact that he even seemed to care, Gwen could not even open her mouth to attempt an answer. 

“I used to have one. To tell the truth, they’re a lot more work than they’re worth.” Though those were the words that left his lips, the warmth that crept in his voice went against what he had just said. 

"I know,” the half-elf snapped. Taken aback by her own tone, she repeated herself softly, “I know.”

So many questions hung in the air, but until then their policy had been to not ask anything that might be deemed too personal. It surprised Gwen that he had even offered that piece of information to begin with. Perhaps it was his way of helping her with the situation. 

“But no, I don’t know what I am going to do with it. I’ll deal with things as they come.”

“ _We_ will,” Ivor said, setting his fork down beside his empty plate. 

James nodded and finally got up. “Guess it helps to not be alone.” Without bothering to say anything else, he cleaned up his spot at the table and exited the kitchen, leaving the half-elf and her other companion by themselves. 

“When _will_ we be leaving?” Ivor asked before the silence could settle again. 

Without thinking, Gwen said, “Tonight.”

~~~~

The moon illuminated the lands surrounding them as they set out once more. Goodbyes had been uttered, hugs and pats on the back had been doled out. After giving up her protests concerning their departure, Delores had handed Gwen a small package of food for the trip, holding her hands a little longer than necessary, smiling all the while. Greg, on the other hand, almost seemed glad to watch them go, though he voiced no such thoughts out loud. None of the others witnessed the departure, already fast asleep.

James had hung around the longest, the stiffness in his shoulders almost belying a sort of hesitance. With his hands in his pockets, he looked more like a farm boy about to confess his undying love for the neighbouring girl. The sight made the half-elf’s heart clench in her chest, but she knew she could not and should not try to drag him away with her. Everyone had made their own decisions and each of them had the right to do as they willed. 

“You take good care of yourself?” James offered without moving from his spot. 

Ivor nodded and said, “You too. And good luck with whatever may cross your path.”

The half-elf was having none of it, however, and instead she threw her arms around the burly man, her hands unable to touch each other at his back. James’s figure became even more rigid, but soon he relaxed and even placed a hand on her head. “Don’t go looking for trouble as much as before, all right?”

Both of them knew the promise was in vain, but still Gwen nodded. “I’ll try.”

That seemed good enough for the human, for he mustered up the tiniest of smiles before he freed himself from her grasp and took a step back. “You’d best get a move on now.”

And with that, they were on their way once more, heading north towards Vergen in the hopes of finding at least a few answers to their many questions. With them they carried their bows and a dagger Gwen had found near the stables. James kept that sword, so it was only a fair trade. 

Relief flooded Gwen’s body at the sudden amount of movement, combined with the thought of being on their way again. That relief dissipated quickly, though. After all, the impact that the absence of a group member could have was strange. Gwen had thought that she would miss his presence itself the most, but it was much more than that. The empty space that used to be filled with the mere sound of his footsteps hung behind her like a ghost. 

More than a few times she forgot that he was no longer with them. She would turn around to check up on him, only to falter for a moment. 

“Are you all right?” Ivor asked the first time it happened. 

“Yes… I just…” The half-elf threw another glance over her shoulder before meeting her friend’s gaze. “It feels strange.”

“I understand,” he said, and his lips formed the words to convey his thoughts, but they did not leave his throat. Instead, he stared ahead of them and remained silent as they continued to walk. The distant look in his eyes told Gwen more than enough.

His calm nature was basically the opposite of her anger and hatred towards the world around her, which made it easy to forget that Ivor, too, had his own demons. She wondered if he remembered travelling with his mother or someone else he had been close with.

All of a sudden, she realised she had pressed a hand to her stomach. She tore it away with such violence that she almost stumbled over her own two feet. Though she caught herself just in time, fingers wrapped themselves around her upper arm to keep her steady. Ivor remained silent, but his frown said enough. 

“Sorry!” the half-elf blurted before he could speak. “I’m fine!” 

Her companion moved his other hand to her forehead, but without thinking she shied away from his touch. Instead of pulling back, Ivor kept it there, asking permission as he examined her face with grey eyes. Finally, she sighed and bent forward. After a short pause, Ivor nodded and pulled back. 

“Really, you should be more careful.” He offered her a crooked smile before continuing down the road. They were close to their destination, but still had quite a way to go, after all. With their pace and luck, they might reach Vergen in a day or two, and who knew what else might happen on the way there. 

As the two of them made their way up north, they encountered all kinds of people. Their numbers seemed to swell the closer they got to the city. Farmers on carts pulled forth by horses, trying to either buy or sell the first harvest of hay of the year. Villagers who had fled at the first signs of Nilfgaardian nearing the borders. Scholars going back and forth, scouts being sent down to the Yaruga. 

Most of them talked about the same thing: the brewing war. According to others, it had already started. Others refused to believe any of the sort, claiming it was all just some propaganda for the monarchy. They heard all sorts of tales of what was happening, with wraiths and crones and sorceresses roaming the lands according to many folks, until they stopped believing anything they heard. 

Several times, they came across soldiers making their way either south or north on the backs of panting steeds. Beneath the bright sun, their coats shone with sweat. Usually the two of them caught sight of the humans in time to hide in the woods and bushes that lined the roads. Once, however, they missed the oncoming soldiers after the half-elf’s stomach forced them to take a short break.

“Halt!” a soldier accompanied by two others yelled when he spotted the peculiar couple, one of whom sported the tell-tale ink of a Squirrel. “Who goes there?”

Even before they could answer, he had unsheathed his sword and circled around them, holding it high.

“Just two elves fleeing the Squirrels and the coming war,” Ivor offered, lifting his hands with his palms towards the guards. “We mean no harm.”

“Bill, they seem unarmed but for those… bows,” one of the soldiers from behind the first spoke.

“We’ve more important thing to do than look after a pair o’ knife ears,” the other added.

The leader of the trio – Bill, apparently – squinted at his men from beneath his visor, then at the fugitives before putting his sword away with a huff. “So be it. King Stennis has given us orders of utmost importance, after all.” 

And with that, they stormed off once more, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Only when they disappeared beyond the horizon did Gwen dare to breathe again. Her hands, which she had curled into tight fists, relaxed.

“So, things really are starting to become serious,” she mused as she shook her arms to release the tension from them.

Ivor hummed in agreement. “That means we must pick up the pace. If the soldiers are up and about like that, bandits are most likely to have a field day. And we still have a long way to go.”

The rest of the day went by without incident, save for the merchants and travellers they came across. As the sun rose and fell once more, their pace dwindled. Every now and then Ivor would offer to stop by the side of the road for a while, but Gwen would have none of it.

“I’m pregnant, Ivor, not crippled,” she spat at him. The sooner they got to Vergen, the sooner they would find answers, and Gwen was beginning to itch for those. Her fingers also wanted for a knife, but doing anything with one would be impossible with the elf watching her like a lioness watching its club. Ivor had not seemed convinced by her words, but he shrugged and continued anyway.

Ivor began asking passers-by on carts if they could ride with them. The first one scoffed at them but otherwise ignored them. The second yelled at them, “Get out of here, you bloody Squirrels!” and waved his whip at them, the end of it flicking against Gwen’s cheek and drawing blood. The third, however, was an old farmer with a straw hat who allowed them to climb on board. 

“Sir, sorry to bother you…” Ivor began as the man made his way around the couple.

“Hm? What’sa matta’? the farmer managed around the gaping hole where his two front teeth should have been.

Ivor began, “My wife, she is with child–”

“And we are fleeing to Vergen, away from the nasty Squirrels,” Gwen added, placing one hand against her stomach and pointing the other north. Nausea swirled around inside of her, though she knew not which movement caused it.

“Therefore, would you be so kind as to allow us on your wagon? Though we have naught to pay you with…” the elf finished after shooting his friend a glance.

“Eh, I don’t see why not.” And with that, the old man stopped the cart so the two of them could hop on. 

After murmuring their thanks, Ivor found a spot beside the man whereas Gwen made herself comfortable on top of the pile of hay in the back. With her arms behind her head, the sky soon began to swim in and out of her vision as her consciousness slipped away.

When she opened her eyes again, clouds covered the sun, casting darkness around her. Even so, the snow that blanketed everything brightened the world to the point that Gwen still had to squint.

“Gwenfrewi!” The oh so familiar voice laughed behind her. She turned just in time to note the scar that ran through Elric’s right eye and that his hair had grown longer and darker before she was lifted into the air by a strong set of arms. Iorveth stood there in Elric’s stead, lips spread in a manner that she had never seen on him before. He smiled at her and the sight of it disturbed her more than this dream usually did. “I heard from your mother. We’re going to have a baby! We’re going to have a baby!” 

He twirled her around, her feet dangling uselessly as he danced with her. Something bubbled up within her, clawed its way up her throat, tickled her at the back of her mouth, and before she knew it, a laugh passed her lips. She grinned and nodded, black bangs falling into her eyes. Passers-by stared at them, some in confusion, others in happiness, and again others in disgust. As always, she ignored them.

When he finally set her down again, she almost sank to the ground, her head swimming with dizziness. His hands grasped her elbows before she could, however, and he held her close to him. Even through the many layers of clothing they wore, she felt the heat of his body. 

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, where she could feel the grin in his cheeks, and cradled the back of her head with his hand, fingers entwined with strands of hair. Then he whispered the words she had heard so many times. 

“How dare you?”

The change, the difference, the deviation from the usual was enough to free her mind from the clutches of this dream.

“W-what?” she managed.

“It is bad enough as it is that it will only be part Aen Seidhe, but the matter of bringing a child into a world such as this is unforgivable,” he hissed as the grasp on the back of her head tightened, nails digging into her scalp.

The half-elf stammered a few half-assed words. She had held onto the pattern of the dream and had expected the mirth and the laughter. Even if it came from Iorveth. Her mind did not know how to cope with this change.

Before she could think of something, _anything_ , to do or say – not that it would have mattered, though – the elf pulled back. Ever so slowly, he disentangled himself from her until she stood there and simply stared at him with her hands pressed to her stomach. Dazed. Shattered.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes whereas a malicious glint filled his. Even in a dream, she felt her heart break at this rejection.

Once he had fully retracted himself, Iorveth squeezed his hands into fists and swung one of them at her as a roar left his lips. His knuckles smashed against her cheek and sent her spiralling, though the pain that bloomed along her face was all in her head. 

She heard not the expected crunching of snow beneath her as she fell to the ground, but a loud crack when her back hit a wooden plank instead.

Two sets of hands held down her arms and she whipped her head back and forth only to scream, though no noise came out of her gaping mouth. To her left stood Loredo, who leered down at her with that grin of his. On the other side was the elf who had caught and used her between the woods of Vengerberg so many years ago. He licked his lips as he bent down closer to her until she felt his breath fan out across her skin.

A hand on each cheek forced her to look away from him and at the person above her. A shade of green that resembled a forest in the spring greeted her as Iorveth leant over her. This time one eye was covered by the red scarf. He smiled again, but all the warmth from before had been drained from it. All that remained was a cold, malicious smirk. It was the expression she imagined he wore when dealing with a bloede dh’oine. 

“Don’t worry, Gwenfrewi,” he whispered, “this will only hurt a little.”

She had no time to react, for a laugh came from in front of her. She turned to look, her body so stiff she felt like she might snap, but she bit back a gasp when she noticed her swollen belly that told her she had been carrying this child for close to a year already, if her previous pregnancy was anything to go by. 

Footsteps approached from the side, and the familiar face of Elric appeared above her bump. In his raised hand he held a knife. Without offering an explanation, he plunged the blade into her stomach. 

Sucking in a lungful of air as though she had just resurfaced after a long swim, Gwen opened her eyes and was greeted once more by the bright blue sky. After pressing a hand to her stomach, she assessed that she was once more at the beginning of this journey. A glance around her told her that nobody stood next to her. The table beneath her was just a pile of hay. 

With a grunt, she pushed herself up and dragged a hand down her face. No matter what she had dreamt before, it had never been so… _vivid_. Her limbs still felt heavy, as if they could not quite believe she was still alive. Without thinking, she wrapped her thumb and pointer finger around her wrist and rubbed them back and forth. She rubbed until her skin ached and repeated the motions with her other wrist.

Behind her, Ivor and the old man still talked in low voices. She heard the word ‘crops’ at least twice and let her mind wander. Afraid to fall asleep again, she remained upright and watched the trees go by. Even so, she caught bits and pieces of the conversation being held behind her. 

The farmer – Ben his name appeared to be – ended up being surprisingly knowledgeable about everything currently going on. His voice was calm as he relayed everything, and so Gwen believed him to not be as delusional as others had seemed. Apparently, many farmers in northern Aedirn had started working together, gathering crops and helping each other prepare their lands for what they thought could only be the upcoming war. They still knew what to expect from the last invasion and hoped to do everything better this time around.

Of course, humans being humans, many efforts were thwarted by their own people. Some stole from each other when they thought no one was looking, others sent their neighbours glares of suspicion. They never could agree on how they were to go about doing everything in a way that satisfied everyone. In the end, so many attempts were disrupted even before they could actually began. 

Then there were the non-humans, who received the brunt of the accusations and were in turn beaten, murdered or, if they were lucky enough, exiled. The local Squirrels, on the other hand, used the discord running through the settlements to their advantage by killing and stealing wherever they could. To make matters worse, bandits were appearing like mushrooms during autumn to plunder and murder alongside all other culprits. At this point, nobody knew who was killing or stealing from whom. If something didn’t happen, sooner or later they’d run themselves into the ground even before the Black Ones set foot upon their lands.

“How come you travel so far away from home then, with how dangerous the roads are these days?” Ivor asked.

Ben chuckled in response. “Somebody ‘as to. And while the young’uns use their energy to bicker with each other, an old fella’ such as myself gladly takes the risk ‘imself.”

Though Gwen had managed to stay clear of most of the war last time around, the destruction it had left behind was something not even she could have escaped. Roaming the forests, she had often come across fields where blood covered the grass, corpses from various sides of the battles scattered all over. Sometimes she even found Squirrels in the midst of the deceased. On a regular basis, she literally stumbled upon the remains of horses. Not wanting to become ghoul fodder, she had never hung around such scenes for too long. At a certain point, she had even learned to avoid places like it completely. She was proud of the fact that she had never seen a dead-eating monster in her entire life.

Though there _was_ that one time…

“Oi! You there! Stop the cart and get off this instance!” a voice called from out of nowhere.

“By Melitele’s teats…” the old man muttered before pulling on the reigns of his horse. 

Gwen turned back just in time to meet Ivor’s gaze. Don’t say or do anything stupid, his look told her. Well, no promises there. After getting all but whipped in her face by some grumpy human today, she could not guarantee that she wouldn’t bite back this once.

“What’s this?” a man whose face was mostly concealed by a black bushy beard asked as he stepped up to the halted wagon. “A man and two Squirrels on the road together?!”

Another man appeared by his side, though this one looked more like a boy than anything else. He laughed far too loud and said, “Sounds like the start of a bad joke, don’t it?”

“‘A man and two Squirrels enter a bar’?” a third, the oldest of the group, asked, approaching them from a different angle.

“And none ‘o ‘ehm ever come back out!” the final bandit finished. 

They could only have been bandits. Their armour was misshapen and didn’t quite fit their bodies. Stolen or scavenged off of corpses they found. Filth covered them from head to toe; caked in their hair, between their fingers, in the creases of their clothes. Smelled like it, too. All carried swords that looked like they might break if one applied too much strength on them. One of the men wore a battered shield as well, though the heraldry that once adorned it was now unrecognisable.

Once upon a time, Gwen would have been able to take them all on by herself. Now, however, she wasn’t so sure… Even so, her fingers found the dagger she had hidden beneath the bed of hay and gripped it tightly. Just in case. 

“What can I help you with?” Ben asked, his voice almost sounding pleasant, though there seemed to be a dark undertone hidden underneath it. The half-elf felt bad that he would suffer doubly so, simply because he had been kind enough to offer help to a pair of non-humans. 

“For starters, ye can give us all your precious treasures. Weapons, jewellery, you know the drill,” the beard said while he rounded the wagon to the back, where Gwen sat. 

Although the cart wasn’t closed off, its sides were high enough to hide most of her from view while sitting like this. If she could strike him while they were unprepared, get them a head start… She still felt Ivor’s gaze on her back, though, and so she dared not move. 

Ben shook his head, his straw hat rustling as he did so. “Apologies, I have none of that. Just a bunch of hay, if you’re interested in that…”

“Can’t do much with some stupid hay,” the human carrying the shield snapped. “D’we look like we got the time to trade shit?”

Before the farmer could mutter an apology, the youngster spoke up, “You do realise you’re travelling with Squirrels, don’t you? Crafty bastards always have something pointy hidden somewhere.”

As the entire group sniggered, the bearded man unhatched the back of the wagon and swung it open. His brows rose at what he saw before his lips spread into a grin. “Didn’t know you was travelling with such pleasant company. Tell you what, sir. You give us this pretty little thing and we’ll let you and your other knife ear on your way, unharmed. How’s that sound?”

The blood in Gwen’s body froze as the world around her stilled as it so often did. Blood rushed through her ears and the only movement that she made came from the beating of her heart. _No, not again, not again, not again…!_

“You… you cannot just do that. She is with child!” Ben tried to reason with them as she lay there, all but turned to stone. 

“Oh, the lass is pregnant, is she?” The oldest of the group came to stand beside the bearded man. When he set eyes upon her, his shoulders slumped. “Could’ve fooled me.”

_Not again not again not again!_

“Don’t matter either way,” the shield muttered. “Either you got yourself a wench for the night, or you might’ve gotten yourself a _pregnant_ wench for the night. Win-win situation if there ever was any, eh?”

“I always heard women be tightest when carrying a child… ‘s that true?” the boy asked.

“Suppose you’ll find out tonight, then!” the shield yelled at him from his side of the wagon. 

The beard clapped his hands once. “All right, that’s settled then! Now, lass, if you don’t mind…” 

_Notagainnotagainnotagainnotagainnotagain_

When the half-elf didn’t move, the man beside him placed a hand on the pommel of his sword. “I’d do as he says, knife ear. Wouldn’t want your friends to pay the price for your disobedience, now would you?”

And just like that, all sense and colour came rushing back to her and she inhaled deeply. She managed a nod and slid forward, careful to keep her hands behind her as she did so. 

“Attagirl,” the beard said, like she was but a cow being led to the slaughterhouse. 

Soon enough, her legs dangled over the edge of the cart. The older man stepped aside to let her out, but the man with the beard stayed put, that grin still on his lips. He smelled of dirt, sweat and leather and his teeth were so brown she could almost taste the alcohol he probably consumed on a daily basis. Nodding his head once, he offered her a hand, suddenly pretending to be anything but a disgusting rapist. 

She reached up for it, but instead of accepting it she moved higher, towards his collar. With one swift motion, she brought up the hand with the dagger and plunged it deep into his unprotected neck. 

“ _Never_ again,” she hissed in his face. 

“Wha—How—Who—” the man who had watched her murder his leader stammered as he grappled for his sword. 

“What’s happening?!” someone yelled, but she was not sure who. 

Before he could unsheathe his blade, she had pushed herself off the cart and kicked him in the knee. It hit the ground with a thud, after which she brought hers up into his face. A loud crack filled the air and blood exploded all over her breeches. His eyes rolled back into his head, but she did not wait to see him fall back.

“Gwen!” Ivor’s panicked voice came from the front of the wagon, and within the blink of an eye Gwen had launched herself back onto the wagon. The edges of the hay pricked into her legs through her clothes as she dropped her knife and dug through the pile. 

The moment she grasped the bow and quiver, she straightened herself and notched an arrow with such speed and grace that made her feel at least twenty years younger. The arrow soared through the air and pierced the youngster on top of Ivor in the shoulder. Beside him sat Ben, cowering away from the two of them. He yelled and yanked it out before trying to press his blade against Ivor’s neck again. By then, however, Gwen had thrown her dagger at the elf, who had caught it and now used it to push back.

Aiming another arrow at the only other remaining human, she saw that he had taken a less aggressive route. Instead he kept his distance from the scene and held his shield up. Her bow wasn’t going to be of much use here. 

The hay rustled as she made her way through it and jumped over the side of the wagon. When she straightened herself again, everything began to spin around her. Her bow and quiver clattered to the ground beside her as she threw an arm out to catch herself against the side of the cart before bending forward and throwing up. Of all the places…! 

Once her stomach had settled, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She looked up only to be greeted by the tip of a sword aimed at her face. Despite the nerves and the remaining nausea causing her to tremble, she mustered a smirk and straightened her back.

“Quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” she asked him. 

The only response she received was the tightening of his grip on his blade. Flashes of previous battles, one of which felt like it had taken place a lifetime ago, flitted through her mind, and her body began to move on its own. 

Clapping her hands together with the blade between her palms, she saw Nessa’s shock on the man’s face and remembered James’s blood as hers seeped down her arm. When the sharp edge dug into her skin, she felt the tension that had been filling her rush out like a sigh. It was replaced by a sense of giddiness that she used to push the sword aside effortlessly. With his shield in the way, however, there was little else she could do but watch the fear in the man’s eyes grow. 

With a _thunk_ , something found its way to the side of his head and he toppled over, leaving a puff of dust in his wake. The sword clattered to the ground noisily, the blood that stained it offering a stark contrast to the road it lay on. Blinking slowly, it took the half-elf a few moments to register that it was a dagger that stuck out of the human’s hair. _Her_ dagger.

She looked up just in time to see Ivor storm towards her. 

“Are you all right?!” he exclaimed, his voice higher than usual as he took in the sight of the sword and the puddle of vomit she had already forgotten about. His hands roamed her body and, still in a daze, she let him. “Oh Gwen, you shouldn’t have done that. We could’ve—”

“No,” Gwen spat, her head snapping up to face him, her gaze clear once more. “ _Never_ again.”

He frowned and parted his lips to respond. Instead, he gasped when he came upon her palms and held them up for all to see. The red angry lines stung in the sunlight. “Gwen? What happened?!”

Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she glanced away and lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. When his grip on her tightened, she looked back and finally found out what his beautiful grey eyes looked like when they betrayed his utter fury. Usually, his eyes looked like the sky on a rainy day that begged one to stay inside, wrapped up in a cosy blanket. Now, however, they turned dark, like a storm was threatening to break out any moment now.

“You have a problem, Gwen,” he bit out through ground teeth. “You really need to stop this.”

Gwen was so flabbergasted that all she could muster was a weak, “W-what?”

“ _This_.” The elf lowered his grasp to her elbows and lifted her arms so she was forced to take them in. Dark rings circled her wrists where she had rubbed them a while back. “ _Everything_.” He suddenly dropped her as if she had burned him and crossed his arms over his chest before taking a step back from her. “You’ve been doing it on and off for days now. And now _this_.” He gestured at her hands. “I get it, okay? Truly, I do, but this— this is not the way to deal with it.”

“You what?” Gwen whispered sharply, squinting at him. “You _get_ this?” Making a sweeping movement with an arm, she had to bite on her tongue to stop herself from screaming. 

“Don’t you try this with me again. You _know_ what I’m talking about. You’ve been betrayed, I get it, but we’re in this together. And you _promised_ you’d stop this… this self-harming.”

Gwen’s breath caught in her throat and she recoiled mentally. Self-harm. Was that really what it was? All these years, and nobody had ever put a name on this self-destructive behaviour of hers. Not her mother when she had found her at the start of her first pregnancy, not Iorveth when he had stumbled upon her in the forest, not Ivor that first time he had caught her. Not even she herself, after hearing tales of young women scarring themselves in order to live with the pain that they carried around with them. 

“You’re not doing this to yourself anymore, and you’re not _alone_ anymore. We’ll get through this, all right?” Anger still laced his voice, though he tried his best to relax. Even so, there was a tightness in his body that she had never seen in him before. Somehow, in that moment she recognised it as how Elric looked whenever he held himself back from hurting her. Whether it was for her sake or his, she did not know. 

She could only nod, her mind already far away. By the time she became aware of her surroundings again, she realised that she was sitting in the back of the wagon as it hobbled along the road once more. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, she pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face there. Her shoulder shook as she wept in silence.


End file.
